A Captain's Heart
by ListerOfTardis
Summary: Killian doesn't remember falling through a portal. Now he is injured and trapped in another realm - again - with only an odd stranger for company. Who is she... and why is there something so familiar about her? Takes place between seasons 6 and 7. Inspired by my favorite episode of Doctor Who (spoilers!)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Holy. Mother. Of _Zeus._ That hurt.

Of all the positions in which a person could regain consciousness, sprawled on a beach with one's hook embedded in a thigh rated among the worst. And Killian Jones should know; in fact, he might be considered an expert on the whole "body meets ground" thing.

Clumsy fingers brushed his forehead, spidering roughly along his jaw before coming to rest against his throat in poor approximation of seeking a pulse. Gritty with salt and sand, Killian's eyelids were slow to respond; truth be told, the same could be said of the rest of him, or he wouldn't still be prone, his metal appendage digging an agonizing trench into his leg. With effort, Killian gathered the appropriate obscenities to slur into the sand, most of which came out as muffled grunts. Which quickly became choking coughs when newly-expanded lungs needed to expel the seawater that had collected at some point.

All of this was familiar to him. But… storm? Shipwreck? Killian did not remember any of it.

The hands had shifted, a fist now inexplicably resting against his lips as though attempting to politely stifle the hacking. Killian lifted a trembling arm to bat away the nuisance, managing a hoarse, "Sod off, Smee," before succumbing to another painful bout of coughing.

The answering voice was decidedly _not_ Smee's. Unsure, unfamiliar, but with a similar accent to his own. A woman.

"You're… awake? My captain?"

Gulping, clearing his throat several times in quick succession, Killian fought to get the spasms under control: each convulsion of his chest drove the hook a little deeper into the damaged limb. Still weak and dizzy, he finally managed to flop over onto his back, releasing a small whimper in the process. Killian winced and scrubbed at his eyes with sandy fingers. That didn't help anything.

"Water," he groaned, holding out his hand. Delicate fingers threaded between his as his companion mimicked the request.

"Water," she said, as if agreeing. Definitely not catching on. Who _was_ this lass? Killian shook his hand free and fumbled for his pocket. These days, his trusty flask often contained water over rum. Although perhaps not, if he'd been sailing... had he? By himself? Or… gods, had _Emma_ been with him? Henry? A spike in panic made removal of the lid more difficult than usual, and his mysterious helper offered no assistance.

"P-please, was there anyone else? Anyone washed up, further down the beach, perhaps..." He took a whiff from the flask: undeniably rum, which would be useful in its own way, but would not solve the issue of obstructed vision. Killian took a mouthful as he suppressed more coughing.

"No; only the two of us. We're quite safe."

Again, less than helpful. Killian tucked the flask beneath his brace, gritting his teeth at the jostle to his wound. Then he used the other sleeve to wipe at his eyes: sand was less likely to stick to leather, even sodden as it was. He had to clear his vision; had to see the hook where it penetrated, how deep it was, which direction to pull it out. He shuddered. And not that he didn't believe the woman beside him, but he _needed_ to see for himself that they were alone. That his Swan wasn't lying somewhere nearby, turning blue as she awaited only that small nudge to get her breathing again, and if he delayed…

Terrified of what he would find, Killian wrenched his eyes open, the grit burning and scratching, tears blurring even as he cast about wildly, trying to get his bearings.

Beach. Calm sea, clear sky. No one immediately caught his attention, but he needed to be certain. Bracing himself, Killian took a breath and lurched into a seated position, hissing in pain and nearly blacking right out again. At his left, a blur of movement, a hand on his back to steady him.

Killian gazed painfully up and down the lonely stretch of sand and spotted nothing out of the ordinary. No bodies, no wreckage, no ship on the waves, row boat, or any sign of civilization. Either Emma was safe at home, or…

No, he could not think that way; right now needed to be about survival. Killian squinted inland, deciding immediately that he did not recognize their surroundings. Putting off the first glimpse of his wound and the inevitable shock it would bring, Killian turned to study the only living soul anywhere nearby: the woman at his shoulder. Bloody hell - the _naked_ woman at his shoulder. Killian glanced up at her unfamiliar face before looking away.

One problem at a time.

Distinct stirrings of nausea accompanied the sight of curved steel protruding from his leg. Prickles all over his face, pressure behind his eyes, vision narrowing - the usual, in other words. Killian swallowed a groan and sought the calming horizon.

Once reasonably sure he wouldn't be expelling the contents of his stomach, Killian trained his gaze back on the injury; he felt the pain intensify now that he could visualize the impalement, the blood that had soaked through his jeans and started its own collection of rusty sand clumps on the denim. Following a rent that started just above his knee, Killian gingerly wiggled his finger into the tattered fabric.

"Your hook. It's stuck?" The woman still rested her hand on his back. He could feel slight tremors in his muscles, though he couldn't be sure of their origin.

"Wouldn't be the first time," he grunted, pulling at the tear. He wasn't confident in his ability to rip the heavy denim one-handed, but definitely needed a better view to assess treatment options. "Are you cold, lass?"

"Cold?" she parroted and didn't reply. Given her state of undress and apparent communication difficulties, Killian began to wonder if she weren't a bit mad. Grimacing, the pirate dug into his pocket, looking for his phone. But the blasted thing was nowhere to be found. Probably dead, anyway: he'd learned from personal experience how averse to water the devices were.

"Just determining how much of these damn shivers belong to you, or if they can all be explained away by shock." Not just a reaction to his anguish, the strain in Killian's tone was also a sure indication of his rapidly dwindling optimism. Stranded, no way to call for help, no means of transport beyond his own two… one leg. And his solitary companion hardly seemed fit for providing first aid.

Sighing, Killian closed his eyes for a moment as he pictured what had to be done. "What's your name, love?"

"My name?"

"Aye. What do people call you?"

"I'm called many things, by different people. The one I like best, though, I… it escapes me at the moment."

"O...kay." Killian opened his eyes and glanced sideways at her distant expression. "Your given name, perhaps?"

"That would be Jewel, I suppose; though I haven't gone by that name in many years."

"Jewel, then. Killian Jones." He reached his hand out, careful not to shift his weight too much in the process, then he winced as he caught sight of the blood staining his fingers. He quickly wiped them on his jacket. Awkwardly, Jewel clasped his hand with her left, thumb inside his grip, remaining fingers wrapped around the back.

"Oh, I know," she said as he hesitated, then rotated his wrist and brought her hand to his lips for the briefest of greetings.

"You… do. Brilliant." He released her hand and gestured at his wounded leg. "I hate to ask it, lass, but I'm afraid I'll require some assistance, here."

"What can I do?" She didn't sound intimidated in the slightest.

"I'll need to free the hook from its attachment. Do you think you can provide some stability?"

Jewel moved forward on her knees, nodding. "Show me."

Killian kept his eyes firmly locked on the problem at hand, though the auburn-haired maiden appeared completely unabashed.

"Just… a steady grip here." Killian guided her hand to the graceful curve of steel, just beyond where it disappeared into the brace. He sucked in a sharp breath as she took hold of the hook, the contact inadvertently wiggling the tip within his flesh. Regaining his voice, he added, "The less motion you allow, the better."

"I understand." She wrapped her second hand around the first, and Killian set his jaw.

Removing hook from brace tended to be easier than the other way around, which was why he needed his hand free. Without an external grip on the brace, achieving the sharp twist required to unlock the steel would be difficult, as his forearm tended to merely slide within the leather, seriously reducing its external rotation. Internal flexibility was a necessary design feature: he would be useless at climbing the rigging if the slightest twist of his arm caused the hook to pop free.

With that in mind, Killian carefully wrapped his hand around the end of the brace, rehearsing in his imagination, making sure he would be applying traction in the correct direction. He definitely did _not_ want to be fumbling around while the steel pierced his leg, no matter how strong of a grip Jewel could provide.

Swallowing, Killian took a fortifying breath. "Get ready."

"Aye-aye," said Jewel seriously; he could see her knuckles whiten with pressure.

He couldn't delay any further, or he'd lose the nerve. And this was just the first step…

With a brutal yank on the leather, coordinated between hand and opposite wrist, Killian rotated the brace counterclockwise, away from his body. As he heard the snap of the locking mechanism being released, he growled a curse at the sharp flare in his thigh. But the hook was loose, and Killian quickly pulled his brace free. Panting, he allowed himself to fall back onto his elbows, his head dropping back, grimace pointed heavenward.

"Love?" called Jewel from her position by his hip. "What now?"

The pirate drew three slow breaths through gritted teeth before responding. "You can let go now… thanks…"

The hook twitched just slightly with the release of her grip, and Killian winced again. Then, on shaky arms, he sat back up, growling and fighting dizziness. Salty sand filled his mouth as he took his right sleeve between his teeth. Making a face, he worked the arm free of the jacket, then turned his attention to the other side. As he wiggled his brace through the hole, careful not to allow any of the material to brush against his leg, he asked,

"Just where are we, Jewel? Anywhere near Storybrooke, Maine, by chance?"

Jewel sat with legs folded beneath her, naked hip almost flush against his, merely watching as he shed the jacket. "My apologies. I don't know."

"General idea, then?" prompted Killian, finally emerging from the leather. He tucked hand and brace beneath the collar and held the garment out toward his companion, who looked at it quizzically. "Can't have my only source of assistance exposed to the elements. Put it on, love."

Jewel blinked at him as the offer sank in. As she carefully grasped the jacket, glancing down at her unclothed form, her nude state seemed to register, yet she still held to a naive lack of shame. She slipped her arms through the sleeves just as they were… meaning the garment was on backwards. Killian lacked the will to correct her.

"An idea?" she responded to his earlier query. "Of position?"

"Aye," said the pirate, beginning to work on the buttons of his shirt. He glanced over to catch a flash of dismay in her vivid blue eyes.

"I… couldn't say. Oh, my dear, there was magic, and a portal, and that's all I know. No stars to guide the way, not yet, and we're anchored in a barren reef with a receding tide-"

"Hey, hey, love; steady there." Pausing in the struggle, Killian reached across to catch her agitated fingers as they ran roughly through her long tresses. His jacket already drooped lower on her shoulders. "No need for panic, all right? Just… tell me as much as you can recall; think you can do that?"

Glancing at his hand on hers, Jewel caught sight of the waves off to Killian's right, and her features stilled. She nodded and he released her wrist. The final button undone, he began to strip off his shirt. "You saw a portal? Are you certain?"

"Aye, Captain. I would recognize one anywhere."

Killian swore softly. "Then what realm is this? Don't tell me I've landed in the bloody Enchanted Forest… again."

Her face tightened, the fear lurking. Killian considered her as he pulled his brace through the sleeve. "You aren't from here, I take it."

"That's a… complicated question."

"Naturally." Killian sighed. He really didn't need to know the woman's backstory, or even why she was so peculiar. His immediate concern was survival. "Would I assume correctly that you have no clue as to the direction of civilization?"

She looked stricken, and Killian was overcome with the absurd urge to pull her into a reassuring embrace.

"I… don't recognize this coastline. Never sailed past here, to the best of my memory." She hung her head; the jacket slipped further down her chest and arms. "I've failed you."

"Bollocks," scoffed Killian, crumpling his shirt into a ball beside him. "Hey. The only thing you've failed at is putting that coat on properly. Allow me?"

The pirate leaned sideways, which earned him a fiery stab from his thigh. Pasting on a strained smile, he settled the collar once again in his arms, holding the jacket as a curtain between them. Jewel met his eyes, a question in her own.

"Other arms," explained Killian gently. Briefly balancing the fabric on his brace, he indicated a twirl with his hand, and the woman finally caught his meaning. She pulled her arms free, twisted to put her back to him, and fumbled the jacket on correctly. "That's it, darling. Feel better?"

Jewel turned back toward him; he released the collar and showed her how to work the fastenings. Then he began to unbuckle the harness securing his brace. "Now, then. Here's our course of action. We'll get this blasted hook out, do what's necessary to prevent me bleeding to death… seek shelter. Locate a settlement. _Then_ we concern ourselves with our return home. What do you say, love? Agreeable?"

"You're the captain." The words sounded like a gibe; like a taunt regarding his current lack of a ship _to_ captain. But her tone and demeanor were deadly serious. Killian flashed her an uncertain smile.

"Aye. That I am." With only slight hesitation, he removed both harness and brace. Jewel didn't so much as flicker an eyelash at the sight of his scarred, attenuated limb.

"Tell me, Jewel, do you know how to build a fire?" Killian asked as he began to gingerly wind one of the longer straps around his upper thigh. The woman recoiled visibly at the question, her face draining of color as pure apprehension widened her eyes. All she could do, it seemed, was shake her head, mute.

Killian pulled the strap tight with a grunt, the makeshift tourniquet just barely able to wrap around twice before folding securely beneath itself. "No matter; if you'd be so kind as to gather whatever bits of driftwood you can find, the drier the better, along with any seagrass or anything else you think will burn. Fetch it here, and I'll do the rest. All right?"

Jewel nodded understanding and got to her feet. A puzzled, uncomfortable look crossed her face then, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Killian was grateful he'd chosen to wear the longer jacket that day: however unconcerned she may be about her modesty, the length of the leather at least eased his mind a bit.

"My feet feel different," commented the lady unhappily.

"Aye? Have they gone all tingly?" Killian asked, not really paying much attention. He had once again worked his thumb into the tear in his jeans and was trying to unstick the bloodsoaked material from his skin.

"Is that what you'd call it? Tingly?"

"I'd wager you sat on them for too long, restricted the blood flow. Have you honestly never done that before?"

"No. I don't like it."

Killian grimaced. The denim's tug on his skin pulled at the furrow carved by his hook, which sharpened the constant anguish from the injury. "Give it… a few moments… it'll go away eventually."

He released a tense breath as the last of the fabric came free and he could slide his whole hand into the rip. Jewel limped in a quarter turn, intent on following his instructions. But Killian stopped her.

"Wait. Speaking of feet, you should help yourself to these boots. Prevent you slashing yourself on shells or barnacles."

Jewel turned back and Killian nodded at the boots on his feet. She crouched again, but not before looking back and forth between his gaze and the proffered footwear to be sure of his intent.

Killian wiggled his right foot insistently. "Sorry to be of such little assistance, but I seem to be pinned in place."

His attempt at making light of his situation was undermined by the pain apparent in his voice. Jewel reached down and clumsily tugged the boot off his right foot, then set it aside and moved toward the other. The pirate set his jaw and clamped his hand just above the knee, intending to provide stability and lessen the need to use the skewered muscle. It still hurt. The boot caught on his instep despite attempts to relax his ankle, and Jewel froze when he hissed in pain.

"Don't stop," he implored her tightly. "You're nearly there."

The lass gave one more jiggling yank and the boot slid free. She almost lost her balance, but Killian was too busy cursing his hook to notice her struggles. When she had shoved both of her feet into the too-large footwear, she stood up, and Killian panted a nod. On wobbly legs, she went off in search of flammable materials… and Killian noticed that she walked as if compensating for a world gently tilting back and forth.

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 **AN: This is a CS-friendly fic; however, it is very Killian-centric. Emma appears in maybe 1/3 of the chapters. Just fyi.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Killian had to focus on the immediate task before him - widening the window through which he could tend his wound - otherwise, he might just give in to the shock and emotional distress lingering within. He couldn't dwell on the past: where he might have been, what he had been doing when he fell through the damn portal, who he'd been with. Because he couldn't yet remember, and that terrified him. He couldn't think of the future: what the fire was intended for - or he'd never build it - or how he would ever make it to a settlement, much less back home. That would only bury him in a crippling despair which could well turn fatal.

So he threw his blinders on and stayed in the present.

He had considered removing the jeans entirely. The tear was long enough distal to the impalement that it could allow enough slack while he coaxed the fabric over the hook. Probably. But that would require an amount of strength and dexterity that he just couldn't imagine summoning at present, and anyway, it hurt too much to move the leg, even in small increments. So ripping was the only practical choice.

He quickly discovered that extending the tear above the wound was a lost cause. Even bunching the fabric higher up his leg to give himself more room to work, he had to exert too much effort perilously close to the protruding steel. Inevitably, his hand would brush the weapon, sparking fireworks of anguish that brought darkness to the edges of his vision. Twice was enough, and he moved his efforts lower. He knew he could never tear through the cuff at the bottom, but that wouldn't be necessary. A large enough hole, and he could gain the slack that he needed. By reaching his left wrist into the gap, he was able to create enough resistance to pull wide the rip, which, after a few moments' labor, extended halfway down his shin.

The ankle cuff was a tight fit as it slid up his calf, but Killian was able to pull it high enough to center the hole around his injury. Finally he was able to see the extent of the damage.

It seemed the hook had pierced him a hand's breadth above his knee, almost directly in the center of the leg. Then, in accordance with whatever forces were acting on Killian's body at the time, the hook had traveled a good four inches toward his hip, plunging deeper as it went, until now it was buried from tip to apex. Meaning that at least three inches of steel were lodged within the muscle. The long laceration still leaked blood steadily despite the tourniquet. But Killian knew enough about mortal wounds to realize that no vital blood vessels would have been struck along its path. As long as he could get the bleeding under control soon, blood loss alone wasn't likely to kill him. But, depending on how long it took him to get back to Emma's blessed healing powers, infection could be an issue.

As loudly as his instincts screamed for him to remove the object that was causing so much pain, it was serving to keep the bleeding in check, at least in that area. He had no choice but to deal with it a little while longer. Killian shook his shirt and turned it inside out, seeking the least sandy stretch of fabric to apply to the gash. Setting his jaw, he folded and draped the shirt over his thigh, just below the embedded hook. Then he rested his stump on top and slowly increased the pressure as much as he could stand. Once fairly certain he wouldn't black out from the wound's increased anguish, he leaned stiffly to his right. A fire required a pit to protect it from the wind, and as he couldn't assist with gathering the fuel, his only chance of speeding the process along was to prepare the site.

Of course, digging a hole in the dry sand was not ideal - he had a vague feeling that he _had_ been sailing before all of this occurred, so how had he been flung so far up the beach, above the tideline? - but Killian managed a shallow depression before the exertion became too much for him. It would have to suffice. He slowly brought his right knee up toward his chest and rested his arm atop, then he allowed his forehead to drop forward and contact his forearm. All he could do now was await Jewel's return, counting heartbeats as they throbbed through his leg.

Killian was alerted to her approach - not nearly soon enough for his liking - by the crunching scuff of boots through sand. He rolled his head sideways, cheek now against his wrist, and opened one bleary eye to watch. The odd woman carried a large armload of tangled driftwood, which trailed a fine stream of silt with every step. She saw him looking and formed her lips into a rough approximation of a smile.

"Will this do?" she asked breathlessly. Killian gave a brief nod, but didn't straighten.

"Thank you, love. We'll need more, though. Sorry."

Jewel dumped the wood nearby. "My feet have stopped tingling. Only now they're sort of… warm? Like when the sun is directly overhead in the summertime and parts of you collect the light?"

Killian studied her, suddenly so tired. "Perhaps we can make do with this lot, if you can't walk any further."

"I can," she insisted, already turning to go. "I've only just started to get good at it."

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"I remembered!"

Jewel was still a fair distance down the beach, but clomped along as fast as the boots would allow. Killian reluctantly lifted his head; if she was returning with enough materials, he ought to start framing the fire. But her first pile sat out of reach, and he couldn't fathom making the effort to shift positions.

"Captain, I remembered," she grinned at him, closer now. The expression was more natural this time as her excitement bubbled over. Killian rubbed the back of his hand along his forehead and eyes in an effort to snap back into alertness.

"Remembered what, lass?" he slurred. His eyelids kept falling of their own accord. Jewel stopped a few meters away, panting.

"The word. The other name; the one I like. It's Marvel." She bent to add the new supplies to the first pile, glancing at him somewhat shyly. "I love it when you call me that."

"When I… but I've only just…" Killian trailed off, lacking the energy or patience to debate the point. "All right, then. Marvel it is." He spotted a good clump of dried grass that looked as if it would make satisfactory tinder. "Excellent work, Marvel. We'll have ourselves a jolly old blaze in short order."

Jewel, aka Marvel, giggled at that, a sparkling, free sound that evoked the image of dolphins at play. Killian didn't get the joke, but somehow, making her laugh warmed his heart in a way that almost rivaled his connection with Emma. Caught off guard, he cleared his throat, feeling sand trickle down his neck from fingers suddenly fidgeting behind his ear.

"Er, can I, perhaps, ask of you one more favor?"

Marvel moved closer, attentively earnest. "Anything, Dear One."

A blink, an uncomfortable huff of a laugh. "I… well, actually, two things, now that I think of it. First, if you'd be so kind as to shift all of that over here, where I can reach."

"Of course." She immediately retrieved an armful and repositioned it as requested.

"Then I'll need a bit of flint, some hard rock with which to create a spark. Do you remember seeing anything of the sort in your exploration of the beach?"

"Hard rock?"

"Aye. Normally dark in color. But sometimes other varieties will do. Just… watch for as many different colors and textures as you can find." He grabbed a handful of driftwood to begin the sorting process, grimacing slightly and adding, "Hopefully one will have the desired effect."

After making sure that all of the materials were within Killian's reach, Marvel headed off on a rock hunt. Killian turned his focus firmly onto the familiar routine of framing the fire; he dared not let his thoughts wander ahead to the impending… a shudder overturned his neat structure of kindling. Killian cursed wildly, glad that his companion was out of earshot. She seemed so innocent that even the vulgarities he used on a daily basis - in the presence of his lovely bride, no less - were jarring in comparison.

It took a long ten minutes of steadily-increasing anxiety for Killian to prepare the frame and stack the larger pieces of wood nearby for later use. The nest of tinder snuggled at the bottom, as protected from the winds as it could be. Now came the hard part. _One_ of the hard parts, actually. Killian shivered, catching sight of Marvel far off in the distance, making her way slowly back in his direction, but still stopping frequently to examine and add stones to her collection. There was no use in subjecting her to any more distress than necessary: best get it over with.

With a trembling hand, Killian readied his flask, pausing to take a much-needed draught to steady his nerves. Then he trained his hesitant gaze on the protruding steel.

It would require just as much backward force as upward. Toward his knee and up to the heavens, simultaneously. Preferably in one smooth, quick motion. Gods. Killian gritted his teeth as he shifted his stump away from the hook while still holding pressure against as much of the wound as he could. He shook tremors out of his hand, flexed his fingers, and then carefully wrapped the metal in his grip. Having decided that pulling would be more natural than pushing, it was palm facing him, heel of the hand almost resting against his damaged thigh.

No more delay. Killian sucked in a breath and pulled sharply. The hook resisted for a fraction of a second, then slid free, wrenching an agonized cry from his throat. Dark blood welled from the hole, streaming down both sides of his thigh before he could clamp his wadded-up shirt over the top. Breath hissing through clenched teeth, Killian lay the bloodied hook nearby, exchanging it for the flask of rum. Again acting before he could dwell on how much it would hurt, Killian trapped the shirt between wrist and pinkie, peeled it away from the wound, and then tipped the flask. The alcohol seared over his leg, awakening every pain receptor in the torn flesh as it flooded the laceration, disinfecting and washing away sand and grit. Killian's eyes watered, his arms trembled, but still he forced himself to continue until the flask was nearly empty. Then, feeling drained and lightheaded, Killian repositioned the shirt. It was regrettable that he lacked a clean bit of fabric with which to staunch the flow of blood, but there really was no alternative.

Killian cast the flask aside, taking a moment to catch his breath as pain continued to spasm through his leg. The worst part of it was, he wasn't nearly done yet; there was much more to come. He scrubbed at his face wearily, then located Marvel - she was nearer now, stumbling forward with purpose. He could make out the concern in her expression, even from this distance.

With a quiet groan, Killian began his next task: separating the lower brace from the harness, which was still acting as a tourniquet. In certain situations - being tied around a tree, for example - it was helpful to have a way to detach the leather sleeve from the straps securing it to his upper body. Now was another of those times.

Marvel stumbled to a halt at his feet. Her arms were laden with stones of every color and shape. "I made all haste. Was I too slow?"

"No, love, this is excellent timing."

Killian patted the sand beside him, next to where the hook had settled. He felt a sudden urge to scour the bloody steel. Not that he thought the image would bother her - she had certainly not been squeamish so far. In all honesty, it was he who was growing tired of the sight of his own blood. Regardless, Marvel dragged skid marks in the sand, skirting him until she reached the place he had indicated. There, she knelt and deposited her treasures carefully so the stones wouldn't disturb the structure he had built.

"Then you weren't summoning me?"

She must have heard his reaction to the hook's removal. Killian grimaced, rueful.

"No, merely… venting a bit."

"I see." She remained beside him, but as she started a clumsy attempt to settle cross-legged, Killian instructed,

"If you wouldn't mind, I may have use for you in a moment. Over there." He tilted his head to the left, and she instantly shuffled around behind him. Killian began to dig through the pile of stones, finally selecting one that seemed to have the properties of flint.

"Is that the rock you require?"

Killian hefted it in his palm. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Placing the flint aside, he picked up the freed brace. Then he looked sideways at his attentive companion.

"Marvel, darling… I'm loathe to ask it, but might you be willing to apply light pressure over the wound, just here? I'll need my arm for the business of starting the fire."

"Pressure?" she repeated, her hands hovering above where his stump rested on his thigh.

"To control the bleeding. I'm sorry. I know it isn't a pretty sight, all the blood."

"Oh, I'm quite accustomed to blood," she assured him, unfazed. He swallowed and then nodded.

"Are you? Well… good. I suppose." He rested the brace against his other leg for a moment, freeing his hand to guide hers. As he lifted his stump away, he lowered her hands to take its place on the wadded-up, bloodsoaked shirt. Gently, at first; unfortunately, too gentle to be effective. With gritted teeth, he pressed his hand down on hers. "Just like… that…" he grunted, pulling his arm away. Marvel kept still; she wouldn't meet his eyes, as if ashamed to be contributing to his pain. "Thank you, love."

Killian slipped the brace over his wrist, locked the hook into place, and gave it a quick wipe on his jeans. Then he positioned steel and flint-substitute near the tinder nest. Saying a quick prayer to whichever god controlled fire - it wasn't Hades, was it? - Killian made the practiced motion of striking sparks. And it actually worked, though it took multiple attempts for one to land in just the right spot and take up fragile residence within the grass. With a little bit of coaxing, the curl of smoke became a small flame, and Marvel shied back, her task forgotten. Killian winced but couldn't remind her; all his concentration was on protecting and encouraging the precious blaze as he positioned it near the kindling.

Most of the wood held a precarious level of moisture that threatened to stop the fire in its tracks. But with patient attentiveness, Killian managed eventually to get a good-sized flame going. He pushed himself gingerly sideways, seeking a safe distance while savoring the warmth against chilled skin. Only then did he glance over at Marvel, who was huddled several feet away and watching the sparking light warily.

"It's all right, Marvel. Come closer; warm yourself."

She inched nearer despite her hesitation. But she stopped short of her initial position, so that she would have to stretch to resume pressure on the wound. Killian didn't force the issue. It would be taken care of soon enough.

Once the fire was crackling steadily, Killian retrieved his flask. One more gulp of courage: may it carry him through what must be done. He offered the remaining mouthful to Marvel, who surprised him by accepting. She gave it a sniff.

"Rum," he explained, and she tossed it back. Spluttering, she managed to force it down, scowling in distaste. As she set the flask aside, still coughing, she turned Killian's way. With watering eyes - and was that the barest hint of a teasing glimmer? - she growled,

"Bloody hell."

There was so much hopeful pride on her face as she said his catchphrase that Killian couldn't help an incredulous grin. Marvel puffed up happily, continuing,

"So that's rum? I can't say that I understand the appeal. Why do you like it so much?"

Killian fidgeted with his brace. "For a long time, it had more to do with necessity than appeal. Drink enough of it, and one tends to become immune to the taste."

"And the effects? You react differently than the others."

Killian tilted his head as he gave her a strange look. Then he slid the brace off of his forearm, settling on a simple, "Aye."

Grasping the very edge of the leather, Killian carefully extended the empty brace toward the fire until the hook was submerged in flame. He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry. Turning his face away, he sought his companion's gaze, hoping that his own wasn't as panicked as he felt.

"I… have to ask another favor."

"Anything." She nodded encouragingly. Killian could feel his arms begin to shake, his breathing quicken.

"I have to…" He cleared his throat and started again. "It's crucial that I stop this bleeding. I'm going to attempt to seal the wound by burning it closed."

"Oh, I see," she replied, matter-of-fact. "The yelling, and then you sleep."

Killian blinked, startled by her candor. "Well, yes. That does tend to be the order of things. Only… I haven't had this done in a long while, and only once have I performed it on myself, with less than desirable results." He took a breath and tried to clamp down on his rising fear. "Can I ask… If I… lose consciousness, or… or my resolve fails me… will you see that it gets finished?"

Marvel rested a reassuring touch on his bare forearm. "I would do anything for you, dear Captain."

Killian gulped again, looking from her face, down to her gentle hand, and back. "Th-thank you, l-love. Just… it doesn't require long; brief t-touches against the skin. And, probably goes without saying, but… be c-careful not to scald yourself."

Marvel nodded seriously. Killian struggled to deepen his quick breaths, his whole body shuddering now. The smell of singed leather was horribly suggestive of the charring flesh that would soon follow.

It took every ounce of Killian's willpower to peel the shirt away and remove his hook from the fire. He had to prioritize. Deepest wound first. While the metal was hottest. While he still had the most control, the most precision. Killian clenched his jaw, only to find that it was already at maximum pressure, faltering only slightly whenever an anxious tremor jolted him. Now or never.

The first touch was so shocking that, for an instant, his brain interpreted the sensation as extreme cold. But then those horrible, familiar suns seared into him, their combined power stealing his breath and all rational thought. Killian struggled with the impulse to rip the metal away, cast it out of reach where it could do no further harm. As the wounded flesh boiled, a violently trembling Killian brought the hook down a second time.

The second blistering contact ripped a stifled yelp from his chest. It caught on his teeth but still ended up echoing loudly in his ears. And already, the world was growing fuzzy, losing its light and clarity; the only thing keeping him clinging to consciousness was the terrible, agonizing heat conducting through him. Lightning across the sky. Killian's grip on the leather was leaving imprint marks on his palm. His arm shook. Yet even through tears-blurred vision, Killian could see blood-magma flowing, trickling, pooling: more was necessary. More searing, more anguish, and he didn't think he could do it until he did. He did, and his leg screamed right along with him, and he narrowly avoided a sideways tumble when the beach lurched beneath him.

Whoever the hell sat beside him - their identity was worth less than nothing to Killian in that moment - placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, guiding him upright. His head lolled, each breath leaving him in quiet whimpers as he desperately struggled to retain his grip on reality. All he could focus on was the blaze in his leg, which grew worse with every heartbeat. He had to asses; he needed to decide… something.

Blood. More blood; therefore, more burns.

But Killian was seeing double. His aim was off. A useless blister to add to the mess, and he choked a sob.

The angel-siren at his side grabbed his wrist. Steering him, until… more lava. Killian jerked away, stomach revolting, voice already gone. Gentle hands coaxed his fingers open, and though he wanted to resist, some part of him loathe to relinquish that control, he allowed the fiery tool to slip from his grasp. The rush in his ears coupled with his own uncontrollable groans blocked out all but the tone of her voice - coaxing, soothing, sad. He wanted to trust that voice. Something about it: so familiar, even through the scorching pain.

Killian found himself stretched out flat with no recollection of the effort. But his guardian was straightening, moving toward his damaged leg. In a panic, he lashed out and snagged a limb. She allowed the comfort, but did not stray from her intent. Three more arrows of fire lodged themselves in a line while Killian cringed and cried out weakly.

Then… hands on his face, smoothing his features, drying tears, wiping sweat. A kiss on his forehead, reassuring. And a song. From long ago. Hidden in the depths of his heart for all eternity, somehow revealed anew on this desolate beach. And despite torment physical and emotional, Killian succumbed to the blackness and slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Pain woke him. Of course. That seemed to be the story of his life, though not so much lately. Killian groaned, his mind immediately pointing out the fact that he was stuck, with no relief at hand, not even a drop of rum to dull it. Might as well give up now. There was no way he could suffer through this agony lying still, much less attempt a journey to find help. His throat tightened, panic competing with misery to restrict his breathing and threaten sobs. With a growl, he wrestled back control of his thoughts, picturing his Swan as both example and motivation.

Despair is best remedied by action. Killian pushed himself up before he was ready, and spent several minutes gasping as renewed flames consumed his thigh. Nausea rumbled through his gut; his heart scrambled to compensate for the abrupt movement, racing to pump enough blood to his suddenly-elevated brain. Dimly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. And that's when the melody whispering in his mind burst into full glory once again. Wincing, Killian pulled his eyes open, glancing at the ever-present Marvel as she supported him patiently.

"Was that enough of the sleeping?" she wondered. "Time for more yelling?"

"Not nearly enough," rasped Killian, making a face at the rawness in his throat. "And no, not if I can help it."

"Then what? A covering for your head?"

"A… what?"

"I seem to recall…" She glanced around until she located the discarded shirt nearby, stiff with blood and sand. She picked it up without hesitation, twisted the garment into a long strip, and then held it to her own forehead, frowning. Killian merely gaped at her, pain and exhaustion dulling his mind. She shook her head and lowered the shirt. "Something is missing; something I can't quite…"

Then her face lit up. "Oh! And I brought you a drink! That sometimes comes next, correct?"

Killian's mouth prickled at the thought of water, and he nodded quickly. "Much appreciated, love."

She eagerly uncapped his flask and handed it over. He took a large mouthful, then immediately spit it out onto the sand, his stomach churning even more dangerously at the salt coating his tongue.

"Bloody hell, lass; that's seawater."

"Aye?"

He lifted an eyebrow, his patience at her folly wearing thin. "The stuff's nowhere near potable. Haven't you tasted it?"

"Of course I have!" But her face fell. "I'm sorry, dear; I forgot. I never understood that about human physiology. But that's no excuse. Please forgive me."

Killian regretted his frustration; his pain was not sufficient reason to lose his temper. "You're forgiven. And… look, it's not even a complete waste of effort, see?"

He scooped the shirt up with his stump and used the remainder of the flask's contents to rinse out the worst of the bloodstains, until the fabric could at least be fashioned into a semi-wearable shape. As he worked, careful to avoid splashing or even looking at the mess of blisters on his leg, he added,

"We will need to find fresh water as soon as possible; you had exactly the right idea. But we'll likely need to travel inland for that."

The tune that had all the while been repeating itself around and around inside his head finally won his attention with its insistence. Whether it had been a dream, or a pain-fuelled hallucination… he had to find out. Sighing, Killian set aside shirt and flask and turned to face Marvel. His leg spasmed, sparks dancing along his roasted flesh, and he stiffened, growling.

"That… song," he grunted. "Were you… was it _you_ singing to me?"

Immediately, the woman projected apprehension, even shame. "Was it awful? You deserve much better; I tried my best, but it was my first time trying to sing, and I wasn't entirely-"

"No, no, that's not it at all; you have a lovely voice. It's just…" He swallowed, feeling his eyes becoming unfocused as he was once again transported by the melody. "That song… my first love would sing it to me, whenever I was injured or ill. Only… I was under the impression that she had composed it herself."

Killian couldn't fathom why Milah would have lied about such a thing. It was true that it added to the sacred feeling of the song; her way of expressing her undying love and devotion to him, through any trial they may face. Perhaps she had allowed him to believe an untruth - or maybe half-truth, as the case may be - for the sake of their deepening connection. Because how else would this woman know it, centuries later, in an altogether different realm? As far as Killian knew, Milah had reserved it just for him, and _he_ certainly had never shared it, especially after her death.

"Oh, but she did," came Marvel's quick and baffling reply. "She wrote it for you."

Killian stared at her, uncomprehending. "She... how do…"

A fond, faraway look in her eyes, Marvel continued,

"Dearest Milah. She wrote the song for you, and I learned it from her."

An electric shock coursed down Killian's spine; one that had nothing to do with his injury. "W.. _what_?!"

The quiet bite in his voice had Marvel cowering again, groveling before his perceived wrath. "I'm so sorry, Captain; I won't sing it again. Please don't be angry with me."

Trembling with emotion - astonishment, confusion, well-worn grief - Killian gathered his patience and rational thinking, balling everything else into a literal fist at his side. Slowly, carefully, he said,

"How could Milah have possibly taught you? She's been dead for centuries."

Sadly, Marvel ducked her head. "Yes, I know. I learned it before."

"Before she was killed."

Marvel nodded.

"Two centuries ago you learned it, from my Milah. Before her death."

Marvel continued to nod, eyes downcast. He got the impression she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. Taking a slow breath, Killian reminded himself that here was a woman who, by all appearances, may not be entirely in possession of her faculties. Berating her for her delusions was not an appropriate reaction.

What if she wasn't delusional? She had brought up Milah's name before he mentioned it.

But he may have mumbled it in reaction to the singing, or perhaps she saw his tattoo and made an educated guess.

"I must say, darling, you look quite good for your age. Care to share your secret?"

"Secret?"

"Aye. My own youthful appearance is a credit to time spent in Neverland, a method I would not by any means recommend."

"Yes. Neverland. I was in Neverland."

He tilted his head with a skeptical eyebrow raised. "Oh you were, were you? Funny; I don't recall ever seeing you there. And, believe me, you would have made quite the impression."

Earnestly, she began to babble, her hands fidgeting with the coat's buttons. "You did see me; of course you saw me, every time you returned from that demon's camp, and I felt so happy to see you again, because each time you left I feared you would never return, with the way that the men talked and the worsening state _he_ left you in-"

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Killian's anger mixed with alarm and purposely repressed memories to quicken his pulse, knot his stomach, compress his chest.

"Oh, how I longed to take you into an embrace! You were so alone back then - you wouldn't even allow Mister Smee to tend your wounds most times. You prideful, obstinate man. But I saw your pain and longed to bring you comfort, only I was confined to my natural shape then." She edged closer, running both hands up his shoulder until one trailed over onto his back and the other caressed his furiously clenching jaw. "But I'm not now."

Stiffly, Killian reached across and took hold of her hand, guiding it away from his face. His mind raced: what in all the realms… fairy? Mermaid? Some kind of Neverland creature he had missed cataloguing? But… then how would she know Milah? He stared into her eyes, seeking any clue, and was met with the same vague sense of familiarity he had felt since first sight of her. Not expecting a straight answer - she hadn't given one the first time, after all - Killian had to ask again.

"Who _are_ you?"

A hint of a puzzled frown crossed her face as she met his searching stare. Then she burst forth with one of her effervescent laughs, which startled Killian with its incongruity. She tangled her fingers with his, pulling both of their hands to rest just over her heart.

"I'm sorry, love, I thought…" She giggled again before continuing. "This whole time, I thought you knew. You asked my given name, which I shortened to Jewel, and you've been calling me by the title I like best, but my current name - the one you gave me, so long ago - is The Jolly Roger."

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 **AN: It's at this point that I would like to give a shout-out to SherlockianWhovian, who has written two awesome fics with a similar premise, "Tales Intertwined" and "Enchanted." I highly recommend that you check them out! I was a couple chapters into this story when I saw one of them posted on tumblr, and almost decided not to continue; like, "well, it's been done before; no point now." But I liked what I had written so far and wanted to finish, and purposely held off reading hers until the vast majority of my fic had been written so that I wouldn't unintentionally be influenced by them. I do think that they all have their own merits and are worth your time! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Time stood still for a moment as Killian just gaped. He was so taken aback that even his scalded leg was temporarily silenced. Marvel stared right back, on her face a mixture of mischief and joy as she awaited his reaction.

In that context, everything about her suddenly started to make sense. Her innocence, all of the odd things she had said, her unnerving knowledge of his private history… hell, even her extreme fear of fire could be explained. But… it just wasn't possible. The Jolly Roger was a _ship_. A marvel, to be sure - oh, gods, that's what she meant, wasn't it? - but she wasn't _living_. She couldn't see, hear, _feel_. It was madness. It had to be a trick of some kind, or… or could he be hallucinating?

Killian's unsteady gaze dropped to where he still had gentle hold of her hand. Before hastily releasing her, he couldn't help noticing how real she felt. If it was a hallucination, it was a damn impressive one. Finally finding his voice, he repeated incredulously,

"You're the bloody ship."

Her grin was shining, excited.

" _My_ Jolly Roger?"

"My captain," she shot back, proud and possessive. Killian raised an eyebrow, paused, then scoffed,

"You're mental."

"I'm not!" She didn't sound offended, only desperate to make him understand. "I am her; she is me… I'm… I'm alive."

Killian watched her face, feeling the pain creeping back with the lessening of his surprise. Not a dream, then. "You are that. Granted."

Still didn't rule out injury-related delusion.

Marvel couldn't seem to keep her hands off of him now that her secret was out. She began stroking his cheek: an uncomfortably tender gesture for any reality besides the one she claimed.

"I swear to you," she crooned. "I would never deceive you. I love you too much for that."

Killian swallowed and once again firmly diverted her grasp. Swagger. That's what he needed now. Swagger always got him through awkward or perilous situations.

"I don't blame you in the least, darling. Love at first sight is hardly an uncommon malady for those in my vicinity."

"First sight..." she parroted as her gaze softened. A fond, reminiscent smile graced her lips. "My first sight of you… you were such a scrawny thing. Striving so hard to fill the giant boots you ascribed to Captain Liam." Her eyes sparkled. "And that ponytail!"

Killian couldn't help but squirm under her teasing. "Bloody hell. Not my best fashion choice, true. Meant to make me appear a gentleman, in a station far above my own, and why the hell am I defending my centuries-old hairstyle to you?"

With a chuckle, Marvel ran the fingers of her right hand through the short strands there now, which were stiff with salt and coated with the seashore. "I meant no offense. In fact, I mourned its departure, because it signified the loss of so much."

"Maybe so. But that still doesn't-"

"I can tell you more," she interrupted, eager to prove herself. "Ask me anything. I know how you trembled, that first week as my new captain. You retreated to your cabin every night just shaking, white as those uniform trousers you had stowed for good. You would cry out for your brother in your sleep as you begged for his help in keeping those in your charge safe."

Killian looked away, vividly reliving those days as she described them, yet morbidly curious to hear it from her perspective.

"The first time you attacked another ship, you weren't afraid. You didn't even pity the men you killed. And _that's_ what you mourned later - how far you'd fallen so quickly. You apologized to Liam for failing to be the man he'd wanted you to become. You set him so far above you that you could only wallow in self-loathing, even as you were driven to avenge him."

Determined not to show any hint of how her words affected him, Killian rolled his eyes. "Any average trickster could hazard such guesses and come vaguely close to the truth. All it would take would be a basic knowledge of my history and some common sense."

"Ah, but would they know the ridiculous names you and Milah created for each other? When it was just the two of you, late at night, and you would attempt to outdo the other with creativity? 'Davy.' 'Wordsmith.' 'Tangle.' ' _Willy_ an.' 'MeLove,' 'Captain Colossus,' 'Mistress Marauder...' 'S _killi_ wag.' 'Pretty Pirate.'"

"You forgot 'Jonesing For You.'"

"'Porridge.'"

Despite himself, Killian burst into a grin, releasing a huff of laughter. "Aye, Porridge. Because Milah-"

"Meal, cornmeal, Porridge. I know."

"Bloody hell." Killian sobered a bit, but his assessment of the woman beside him was decidedly gentler. "I had almost forgotten that one."

"I loved listening, those times. You were so happy."

Killian sighed heavily, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "Marvel, love, I have to admit you present an excellent case for your claim."

"But?"

"But I still have trouble believing you're my ship incarnate. Nothing you've said can rule out the possibility of an hallucination, which is a hell of a lot easier to accept."

"Hallucination. I'm not quite clear on the concept."

"Seeing something that isn't there, due to stress or physical trauma."

"Like your leg wound."

"Exactly."

She took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. "But I'm _here_. You can feel me, can't you? I'm not an hallucination."

"Then tell me: how, exactly, _are_ you here? How, after three hundred years of concealment, are you suddenly interacting with me, in human form?"

Marvel dropped her eyes as if ashamed. "I was… afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Aye. If I understand the notion correctly. I hear all these words but can't always relate to them; even definitions are difficult, sometimes-"

"What were you afraid of, darling?"

She took a slow breath. "We were sailing, you and I. Like the old days, except just the two of us. And we were returning to port. And I knew you were going to leave me again. And I never know, when you leave me there, when it will be for the last time. And it's just like Neverland, only not, because this time, I know you're happy and I should be happy too."

It was too much to take in: his ship, alive. Having human desires and emotions, baring her soul in front of him, when he wasn't even fully convinced of her existence. He knew he should be offering comfort of some sort, but he just didn't have it in him at that point. So he stayed silent and tried not to focus on the leg that was once again shrieking for his attention.

Marvel eventually continued. "I prayed to Brizo and she granted me this one chance to talk to you. Only I hadn't realized what it would entail, and it was too much a shock, and then I feared you wouldn't believe me and would cast me away, or that the sailing would be different without my help and you would run aground, and then a portal opened and we fell through." She scrubbed a tear from her cheek, looked at it curiously and then with understanding. "I'm sorry love; this is all my doing."

Killian frowned, disconcerted. "Brizo? You spoke with Brizo? And were accorded human form?" He didn't know why that surprised him, given his own past encounters with traditionally mythological gods.

"She said that you and I share an uncommon bond," stated Marvel, shy but proud. "Perhaps owing to our long history."

"We have weathered many a storm together," Killian agreed. He still found the whole thing difficult to swallow, but if there were truly deities involved… "Hang on. 'Without your help?' 'Run aground?' Give me some credit, love; I happen to be an excellent sailor."

"Of course you are," she soothed. "It's just… I am quite a lot to handle, all on your own."

"A lesser man might take offense to that," Killian muttered, jokingly hurt. "But… I must admit, the thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion. Suppose I owe you thanks, then, for your assistance."

She beamed. "It's always my pleasure."

Killian studied her face yet again. If she was a delusion - if he'd eventually wake up back in Storybrooke, in his bed or in that damned hospital of theirs - there was no harm in playing along. And if she wasn't… it was a rare opportunity, one that may not last, and he ought to take full advantage. Suddenly overwhelmed, even starstruck, he fidgeted behind his ear before saying,

"So. My marvel of a ship, come to life before my very eyes." He held out his hand, mirroring their first greeting, but with much more import this time. "It is an honor to meet you, at last."

With a giddy chuckle, Marvel thrust her left hand into his; again, he brought it to his lips, but this time, as he released her, he corrected gently,

"Traditionally, a lady accepts with her right hand, my dear." He gave her a wink to soften any embarrassment; Marvel giggled and lifted her right hand off of his back, bringing it in front of her face.

"Ah, I see. That makes much more sense. I keep forgetting I have two."

"You have indeed, and I'm afraid I may be putting both to work before long."

"Anything my captain commands."

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 **AN: Couldn't resist borrowing a little bit of dialogue there :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It had to be the leg. His first hook mishap in nearly a century, and it had to the the bloody leg. The leg he needed for walking, the leg that was now severely hindering their progress.

They were following the shoreline southward. Their best guess of southward, anyway, based on what they had been able to observe of the sun's movements. Killian reasoned that civilization trended away from colder northern climates, and if they were to survive long enough to make it home, they would need assistance. Marvel was graciously allowing Killian to use her as a human crutch, never once complaining of the strain or the agonizing slowness of their pace.

The pirate had tried a few hobbling steps on his own, but the use of the injured limb was just too painful, no matter how bitterly he chastised himself for weakness. So here they were, arms thrown around each other, Marvel shuffling two steps forward for every hop-drag of Killian's. She still wore his boots, and he had no intention of taking them back: if it came to the point where he was incapable of further travel, her feet needed to be in usable condition so she could go find help. While they still slogged along the beach, this was no big issue; his good-quality socks cushioned his feet from most of the sharper stones mixed with the sand. Once they reached forest, however…

A less-careful movement of his leg left Killian groaning with pain and unable to continue forward. Marvel stopped with him, watching his face anxiously as she ran her hand along his back. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced back over his shoulder and cursed. He could still see the smoking remnants of their fire off in the distance, linked to them by a disappointingly short trail of footprints and drag marks. Killian turned back to his companion and fixed her with a sheepish grin.

"Not a lot of progress, for all that effort. How are you holding up?"

"You needn't worry about me, dearest," she assured him. "Although my mouth does feel… rather dry."

"Aye, mine too. I'm hoping that dark line on the horizon there marks a stream draining into the bay."

"And a stream contains water that is… potable, I believe was the word you used?"

"That's right." He heaved a sigh. "The question is getting there. You didn't happen to retain the ability to shapeshift, by any chance? I could do with a trusty steed right about now."

Marvel blinked at him as she worked out his meaning. Then she frowned. "I'm so sorry, my Captain - I don't believe the goddess granted me such abilities."

"Ah, well. Suppose we'll have to make do, then."

He steeled himself and signaled his readiness to continue, and they pressed on. After they had fallen back into rhythm, Marvel asked,

"Is this what it's like, a life on land? All this walking? And everything so… still?"

"A bit," grunted Killian. He lacked the breath and energy to describe all of the _other_ facets one could expect from a landlocked existence.

"I'm not so sure I see the appeal," she admitted.

"Understandable," Killian managed. They fell silent for awhile, but then, needing something to distract him from the pain, he asked, "Tell me about life as a sentient ship. Have you always been self-aware?"

"Since my construction," she confirmed.

"But other ships… are there others like you?"

"Not that I'm aware of. I've come to the conclusion that it's the enchantment of my wood that makes me this way."

"Must've been terribly lonely."

"Not really. Not until…" She broke off, stealing a surreptitious glance his way and quickly turning back to the horizon. "I felt content to watch over my captain and his crew. And sometimes, you would even address me directly, and I could pretend you knew of my presence."

Ear suddenly tingling, Killian almost released his grip on her hand to scratch. "And… you were… observing constantly, were you?"

Marvel snickered; she must have picked up the concept of teasing from the men populating her decks. "Would it be disconcerting, if I should say aye?"

"A… a bit," admitted the pirate, flushing at the thought of an unknown audience for all those years. "If only because of the assumption that… certain moments were… enacted in privacy."

Marvel broke into a wide grin, seeming to revel in the sight of her confident captain squirming. But eventually, she took pity on him. "Not to worry, love; I'm familiar with the concept of discretion. If it appeared you wanted solitude - or single company, as the case may be - I focused my attentions elsewhere."

"That's a relief," muttered Killian, still as red as his Swan's leather jacket.

"I've no reason for spying, especially considering that I lack context for half of the bewildering things you do in private."

This admission did not make Killian feel any better, especially when she added,

"Perhaps, now that I'm human, such things could be explained? Demonstrated, even?"

Killian cleared his throat, wincing. "P-perhaps. The explanation, I mean. Er, generally such things are the responsibility of… parents, or an older sibling, but-"

"Parents." Her eyes took on a distant quality, as if searching for a memory. "I've heard the word, but… I'm a bit unclear on its meaning."

"Bloody hell," hissed Kilian. Joining the fire in his leg was a new ache in his head: tension from the arduous journey and all of these things he didn't particularly want to talk about. "Parents are… well, they're a person's creators. And intended to be the ones who care for and instruct, although many don't."

"Oh, I see. Does this include mothers?"

"Aye. And fathers."

"So Gentleman Starkey's ' _Mother_ ' tattoo was a parental tribute?"

"Presumably so."

She did not inquire about Killian's mother and father - she must have gleaned the basics from crewman gossip, or perhaps Killian himself at some point. Instead, she wondered,

"What does one do when lacking such figures? To whom to they turn for instruction?"

"Someone they trust; someone they know will provide honest answers to their questions."

"Like you, then."

"I-in some matters, without hesitation… but certain… certain subjects aren't quite appropriate for… And anyway, lass, we've more pressing matters to attend to at present."

"Of course," agreed Marvel. "I was only… only curious."

Killian nodded confirmation. And it seemed like the awkward conversation was over, and not soon enough for his taste. But then Marvel asked,

"So… when you had Milah or another woman in your quarters, and the both of you were making only noises of exertion… and then both came out looking quite happy… what exactly was occurring then?"

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To Killian's great relief, his assessment of the distant terrain anomaly proved to be correct: it was a stream cutting a wide trench through the sand on its way to the ocean. What was more, the water flowed swiftly enough to lessen fear of intestinal infection. The duo stumbled the last few yards to the stream bank, and Killian managed a cocky,

"Who's the best captain; by land or by sea?"

Marvel's "Why, you, of course" was entirely genuine, but any satisfaction Killian could have felt, whether real or playful, was overshadowed by searing pain as he attempted a crouch. Hissing an agonized breath through his teeth, the pirate collapsed heavily onto one knee while trying to keep the injured leg as straight as possible. He looked momentarily like some kind of drunken contortionist, until he could leverage himself into a seated position. Marvel hovered anxiously nearby, unsure how to provide assistance.

With a groan that was part anguish, part relief, Killian sank back onto his elbows. He wasn't entirely certain he'd ever manage to get back up again. As he fought to catch his breath, Marvel knelt beside him and rubbed his shoulder in sympathy.

"Is the travel affecting your leg wound?"

Killian didn't open his eyes as he grit out, "A bit."

"And there's nothing more to be done?"

"Don't think so, lass."

"What about the angry words?"

Killian slitted an eye open and lifted an eyebrow in question.

"You know." She then proceeded to recite a long string of creative vulgarities, with proper vitriol and everything. Amused and a little disconcerted by such dirty language coming from this guileless personality, Killian realized he could pick out individual phrases that were the favorites of certain crew members, complete with flawlessly mimicked variations in accent. Her demonstration completed, Marvel donned a proud grin, asking,

"Would any of those be helpful?

"Quite the mouth on you, darling," commented Killian wryly. "And here I was trying to control mine."

"Why would you do that? It wouldn't be anything I haven't heard before."

"Too true. Apologies, then; a lovely enchanted being such as yourself deserves a far less… corrupting influence."

"But does it help?" she persisted. "Saying all of those things? Does it make it better?"

"Not really," sighed Killian. "A bit of distraction, perhaps, or an alternative to 'the yelling,' as you put it." He sat up grudgingly and began scooting closer to the stream; his thirst was finally outweighing the temptation to lie back and sleep.

"But… correct me if I'm wrong, dearest, but isn't the yelling due to a sensation of pain?"

"In cases of injury, yes."

"Then what good comes from suppressing it?"

After one more painful jolt, Killian sat close enough to reach the water's edge. He dipped his hand in, rinsing off what blood and dirt still remained, and then asked,

"Would you be so kind as to retrieve my flask for me, Marvel?"

"Oh. Of course."

Killian filled the vessel and then passed it back to his ship incarnate. "Have a taste of this. Significantly better than seawater."

She drank obediently but did not react with as much enthusiasm as he had anticipated.

"My… mouth feels better," she admitted, handing the flask back for Killian to refill. "But it's like so much nothing. Cold, but…" she trailed off, unable to attach words to her meaning. Everything was in such a new perspective for her.

"Bland," Killian agreed breathlessly when he'd drained the entire flask. "The seawater, it… well, the term is _tastes..._ of salt. Not much flavor to freshwater. But a hell of a lot better to drink."

He gave the refilled flask back to Marvel. Then, with a sigh, he addressed her earlier question. "Mix of habit and instinct, hiding pain. Treachery goes hand in hand with any impression of weakness. And even with an unusually loyal crew, one doesn't want to raise any question of one's fitness to lead."

"And spouting words descriptive of unsavory things or actions is perceived as being stronger than someone who yells incomprehensibly?"

"Aye."

She nodded, but did not appear to agree with the convention. "Well, as you must know, there's no fear of my staging a mutiny against you, my Captain. So should it help in any way, feel free to indulge in any vocalization which tempts you."

"I'll keep that in mind," promised Killian. He set his flask aside and stretched out on the streambank, unable to further resist the urge to rest. Throwing his arm over his face, he murmured, "And what about you, love? You've spoken of the ability to feel certain emotions in your true form. How does it compare to your experience so far as a human?"

"I've only been able to make educated guesses of how I was feeling, based on what I've observed," she clarified. "For example, Mister Smee demonstrated fear on quite a regular basis, especially in Neverland. He even admitted to it on occasion, when you were overdue to return, and I knew he must be experiencing the same feeling as I. So that was an easy one.

"Anger… there were more than enough displays on my decks to comprehend it, though I was never very prone to it myself. Mainly… mainly it was on your behalf, dearest. Whenever Pan would come aboard to gloat, or… or the time with that awful crocodile."

She trailed a tender hand along his temple and down his jaw, eventually resting it on his shoulder. Killian didn't stop her, although he felt a stab of guilt for allowing what, with any other person, would have been considered a gesture of intimacy.

"Fondness and love… I learned from you. You and Captain Liam, you and Milah. And much later, of course, you and your Swan." With her free hand, she carefully clasped his relaxed fingers, stroking her thumb along the pulse point of his wrist. "So much of it is touch, isn't it? Before, I had faint impressions of my passengers, I had knowledge of my dimensions - where I started and stopped. I was aware of any damage sustained; I might compare it to how it felt taking this jacket off earlier, when I had it on backwards. But now… feeling all of these things as a human, it's so much more… just, more. Brighter, more intense. More… my own."

Marvel's other hand came to rest on Killian's, essentially sandwiching his between hers. "That first moment, after encountering Brizo, I… everything hit me all at once. All of these new sensations, these stronger emotions, with subtleties I didn't understand, and still don't. And you were there, but so much larger than I'm accustomed to, and as I said, I was afraid. And in my panic… I think I may have created the portal."

Killian lifted his arm away and squinted up at her, startled. "What? Are you certain?" He struggled up onto his elbow, and she released his hand, immediately fidgeting with the coat's buttons.

"Well, no… but I had started to fall forward, being unused to having legs, and as I threw my arms in front of me, a bright burst of light occurred. And there was the portal. Just before your feet, in fact, though you had the presence of mind to begin to take a step back. And if… if I hadn't been toppling over, and hadn't crashed into you the way I did… you probably would have avoided it altogether."

She reached up and rubbed behind her ear in a perfect mimic of his habit, and Killian had to hide a charmed grin despite the revelation she'd just given. "I'm so sorry, Captain - you're injured because of me. And to make matters worse, I landed right on top of you. I believe I may have driven the hook in deeper."

His wound flared sharply at the mere thought; Killian grimaced but reached for her hand. "It's all right, Marvel. It wasn't intentional. We both know how unpredictable portal travel is." He flashed a grin then. "And if you did indeed create the portal, then our route home is significantly easier than anticipated."

Marvel looked skeptical. "But… even if i I did… I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to replicate it."

"Nor I," shrugged Killian. "Just means we'll have to figure it out together."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Nearly an hour later, without even the slightest hint of a portal, Killian could see his own exhaustion beginning to reflect in Marvel's face. He doubted that she would ever ask to stop for her own sake, but a weary mind certainly couldn't be conducive to wielding magic for the first time. Well, the first time in a controlled manner, anyway. Killian gently encircled her outstretched wrist with his hook.

"Dunno about you," he began casually, "but I could do with a rest. Once you successfully bring this portal into being, I'll need the ability to actually throw myself into it, or it's all for naught."

Marvel studied his face; she must have seen something there, for she immediately dropped her hands and nodded. Killian wondered briefly how bad he appeared for her to give in so readily.

"Lie back, dearest," she said, rising to her knees in preparation, should he require assistance. "I will watch for threats."

Killian scanned the horizon, a dubious eyebrow raised. "Not much risk of that; I'm almost certain. You should try and sleep too, love. From what Emma's told me, magic is considerably easier to control in a well-rested state."

Marvel looked sheepish. "I… don't actually know how. To sleep, that is. I've watched you, of course, but it's always been a complete mystery."

Killian gave a short laugh. "Don't fret, lass. Your body will do it naturally; it's nothing one has to consciously control, for the most part. Just lie down and close your eyes." He made an example of himself, only slitting an eye open when the rustling to his left clued him in on Marvel's obedience. She stretched stiffly on her right side, facing him, a question in her gaze. He nodded reassurance.

"But... then how do I come back awake?"

"Either your dashing companion will alert you, or your own mind will, once enough time has passed. In any event, try not to think too much, or it will be difficult to fall asleep in the first place."

She nodded again and fell silent. Killian was near to dreaming when he heard her whisper,

"How will I know when I'm asleep?"

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"Captain? Dear One, please wake up."

Killian suppressed a groan as he rubbed burning eyelids. His leg throbbed fiercely; he grit his teeth and took several steadying breaths before croaking,

"Everything all right, love?"

Marvel sat up, stretching instinctively; her little noises of pleasure suggested how much she enjoyed the process. "Ahhh, that's lovely. The gift of self-propelled movement - I will never take it for granted."

Killian forced his eyes open, just in case it was an actual threat that had woken the ship incarnate. But then he heard an emphatic gurgle off to his left, and Marvel snickered.

"My belly; it keeps vibrating. That means I'm hungry, does it not?"

"Aye." With a stifled growl, Killian pushed himself up; the movement was accompanied by blazing heat in his leg and a nauseating whirl of the surrounding beach. Hunger was a problem unlikely to plague him anytime soon. "I'm sorry, darling; we've nothing for you to eat at present. Water will have to suffice."

Marvel crawled around him to retrieve and fill the half-buried flask. Killian studied the sky: it looked to be less than three hours until sunset. If she couldn't produce the portal they so desperately needed, they would have to make preparations for a night outdoors. While the temperature was currently pleasant, enough of a cool breeze stirred to forecast the evening's chill. They no longer had the luxury of waiting around while Marvel practiced; she would be required to continue her attempts on the move.

He found himself watching as she ran her fingers through the merry spring. She grinned at the sensation, what must have been at once familiar and strange to her newly created form. Marvel threw a glance over her shoulder, saw him looking, and frowned.

"What is it, Captain?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, love."

Turning to face him, she made a passable attempt at sternness. "You forget; I'm an expert at reading your mood. Something has you perplexed."

Smirking ruefully, Killian admitted,

"No hiding from you, is there? All right. Truth is… I'm slightly astounded to find you still here."

"Where would I go?" giggled Marvel. She was still holding the flask beneath the water; uselessly, as it had long since filled to capacity.

"Well… A small part of me thought that after water and rest, I would come to my senses and find myself quite alone, having… imagined this whole thing."

"Sorry to disappoint." Marvel kept her tone light, knowing that he wasn't expressing a desire, merely his continued amazement at the situation. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now."

"Hmm. Suppose I can think of worse traveling companions."

Happily, Marvel returned her attention to the water rippling past her fingers. The solid, _real_ fingers causing an obvious obstruction within the stream, forcing a small diversion in its flow. Nothing drastic or lasting… but another sign of her existence, her ability to interact with the world around her in a brand new way.

Trying to remain impartial, to brace for the possibility of disappointment… it wasn't working anymore. Marvel had grown material in his eyes, impossibility be damned; nothing short of emphatic denial by another living being would likely change his mind back. And… it made him _happy_. So deliriously happy to have his Jolly Roger here with him.

A stab of pain brought Killian back to the present and, after some hesitation, he forced himself to make a quick examination of his thigh. Swollen tight with inflammation, massive blisters running the length of the wound, black and purple bruising beneath. But at least it hadn't resumed bleeding. Killian shuddered and looked away before the sight could drive him closer to nausea.

Once Marvel had consumed her fill of water - and insisted that an unenthusiastic Killian drink some as well - the pirate drew a fortifying breath and held out his hand.

"Help me up?"

Upright once more, the throb pounding even more fiercely as blood circulated faster, Killian rested his arm over Marvel's willing shoulders. Through short, pained breaths, he tilted his head inland, grunting,

"We'll follow the stream. Seek shelter, or at the least, a safe campsite." After a few heartbeats of fighting pain, he added, "If you're able to continue… your attempts to create a portal while we travel… if carting me along isn't burden enough…"

Marvel squeezed his hand in reassurance. "It's no burden. One could argue that I'm only continuing to fulfill the purpose for which I was created." She watched his face, awaiting his command. Killian struggled through another wave of torment, then winced,

"Onward, then."

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To no one's surprise, Marvel was no more able to create a portal while assisting Killian than she had been while giving it her full attention. As dusk approached and they neared the edge of a forest, the pair were forced to face the reality of a difficult night outdoors.

They chose a spot just inside the treeline to make their camp, hoping to be somewhat sheltered from the sea breeze. Killian rested against a tree trunk and watched helplessly while Marvel gathered materials for another fire; at least he'd brought the flint along… and this time, the fire's purpose would only be for warmth overnight.

That task accomplished, and both of them well-hydrated thanks to Marvel's multiple trips to the stream and back, they sat together quietly, watching the sun set over the dunes. Marvel's stomach rumbled periodically, and even Killian's queasiness was tempered by short bursts of hunger. If he were feeling better, he would have made the effort to check the stream for fish, but as it was, he lacked the energy even to talk Marvel through the process. The water was the important thing - they would survive without food.

"My first sunset," Marvel remarked, and she seemed both awestruck and wistful. "I've always been too preoccupied with the little humans scurrying about to pay much attention. Or maybe it's the new eyes. Do you think?"

"Could be," slurred Killian, half-asleep. His mind was currently back in Storybrooke, where Emma would doubtless be starting to worry. When he didn't come home by morning, she would launch into full-on savior mode, pulling out all the stops to look for some new villain that may have abducted him.

Killian's memories were still hazy, but he was reasonably certain that he'd gotten within sight of the harbor before his encounter with the portal. Emma would find the empty ship drifting unanchored with no explanation for his disappearance. He couldn't help but empathize, putting himself in her place and feeling the instant weight in the pit of the stomach, the rush of useless adrenaline that would have no outlet beyond tireless and unfruitful searches of the area. Killian bore little responsibility for his current predicament, yet still felt the plague of guilt for putting her through all of that.

Oblivious to his turmoil, Marvel inched closer. "I'm beginning to understand the aversion to cold. It's never been bothersome before, but to this body, it's… unpleasant."

"Get closer to the fire; it will help combat the chill."

"But isn't it time to lie down together?"

"Uh… well..."

"After sunset, when there were no rations and no merriment, you would take Milah below and sort of wrap yourselves around each other, and just be together before sleep."

Killian nodded; the lump in his throat represented both the familiar tug of grief as well as a longing to have Emma in his arms that way. "You're quite right, love, but… look, I realize you've not had the benefit of many examples of monogamy, but once a person has found their love, they tend to reserve such… intimacy solely for one another."

"Oh." Marvel's eyes dulled, just a bit, and Killian added,

"Certain contact is customarily allowed, especially in a case like this, where it will be difficult to stay warm enough. Just know that there are limits to what is appropriate."

"Limits," she repeated thoughtfully. "Where is the boundary? How am I to know?"

"I'll direct you," he promised. "Based on what I'm comfortable with, and what I think Emma would be accepting of."

Marvel tilted her head, with just enough of a twinkle in her eyes to hint at teasing. "Then you won't be climbing over top of me?"

Raising an eyebrow, Killian replied,

"With this leg? Doubtful."

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Once arranged appropriately - Marvel curled up as close to the fire as her fear would allow, with Killian on his back nearby, injured leg farthest from the flames - the pirate and his human ship attempted sleep. After a while, Marvel's even breaths told Killian she'd been successful. But despite his own exhaustion, for him, rest remained elusive. The searing heat of his burns grew in intensity with each passing moment, until every breath left him in a shudder and tears tracked down his temples.

An echoing snap from a settling log drove a vibrating spike straight through the wound, and Killian lurched to his elbows. The need for relief drowned out all other considerations; he did not even notice Marvel's startled return to wakefulness, or her concerned question. Growling, the pirate clambered up onto his good leg and then hopped awkwardly to the stream. Each jolting landing speared anguish through his thigh, and by the time he reached the water's edge, his head spun so violently that he nearly plunged face first over the embankment.

Wheezing breaths loud enough to be heard over the trickling water, Killian allowed himself to crumple sideways and land hard on his right hip. The chilly water soaked his socks and jeans as goosebumps rippled up his spine and arms; uncaring, Killian scooted further into the water until submerged up to his waist. There he sat, shivering but appreciative of the noticeable cooling of his roasted flesh.

When awareness had washed back through his pain-addled mind, Killian turned to see Marvel crouched on the streambank. She shook visibly, clasping her arms around the jacket to keep it as close against her sides as possible. But her concern was obviously him.

"C-captain? Are you all r-right?"

"Sorry to w-wake you, love. Just needed s-some relief." His teeth chattered just as hard as hers, and he almost laughed at how ridiculous they both sounded. "The c-cold water is helping to n-numb the leg."

Though she didn't quite understand the concept of numbness, Marvel nodded, looking sad to see his discomfort. "Are you in terrible pain?"

Killian grimaced. "It's been my experience that pain t-tends to worsen overnight. Perhaps due to f-fewer distractions."

"I'm s-sorry." She sighed heavily. "Can I help in any way?"

Shaking his head, Killian urged her,

"G-go back to sleep, darling. I'll b-be all right."

But Marvel would not leave him. And so they both sat, wordless and shivering, until the icy water had deadened sensation not only in the wound, but in his toes and... other submerged parts. Then Killian struggled back to his feet.

For pain control, the best solution would be to spend the night in the water. But it was too cold for that, and Killian had no desire to add hypothermia to his physical challenges. He limped nearer the fire, as close to the stream as possible in case of future need. As he situated himself as comfortably as he could, Marvel joined him, lying sideways to face him, placing a supportive hand on his arm. Killian closed his eyes, still shivering painfully, and hesitated briefly before asking,

"Would… would you sing to me, Marvel?"

Without hesitation, the poignant strains of Milah's song carried on the night air. And this time, the tears were not of physical pain, but of bittersweet memory.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Awaked from an uncomfortable half-doze, Killian found himself reaching for a cutlass that wasn't there, with no idea why. Wedged against his back, not seeming to mind the dampness of his clothing, Marvel stirred as well, making a quiet grunt of question. The hairs on the back of Killian's neck quivered erect… but not in response to the cold.

Hours remained until dawn; Killian could see bright, unfamiliar constellations between gently swaying branches. The campfire pulsed, more a sluggish red than an excited yellow. Killian lay on his shoulder, facing the stream, but something compelled him to turn the other way. The desperate need for stealth was not powerful enough to stifle the growl that exploded from his lungs as he forced himself to his knees.

The sound echoed. At first, Killian had the absurd impression that they had fallen into a cave somehow, where noises continued to bounce from wall to wall. But if that were the case, the volume would decrease. And, no, there was no mistaking it: the growl grew deeper, louder. More menacing. His remaining hair follicles stood to attention, and without thinking, Killian lunged toward the fire.

Just as he grasped a spare piece of wood, Killian saw a flash of reflected firelight beyond the crimson glow. Concealed in a bush: two eyes. Calculating, predatory… animal. Killian thrust the end of his stick into the flame, at the same time using his hook to wordlessly beckon Marvel closer.

"Danger, Captain?" hissed the human ship as she scuttled forward on hands and knees. In answer, Killian passed her the smoldering branch, then lit another for himself. His eyes never left the dark shape hunched across the clearing.

"All alone, are you?" challenged the pirate in a casual tone. "Where are your mates?"

The warning growl continued uninterrupted, the eyes shifting as the creature carefully sized up the situation. But no voices joined in, nor was there any hint of movement elsewhere in their immediate surroundings. Killian had to assume it was the only one. He sighed, keeping up the pretense of unconcern; in reality, his every muscle tensed for a fight, his heart raced with adrenaline. He didn't even feel anything from his wounded leg despite the awkward crouch.

"The charred flesh you smell wasn't meant as invitation. So bugger off."

With that, Killian flung his burning stick as hard as he could, aiming straight between the eyes. The beast's reflexes were up to the challenge; with an angry snarl, it scrambled backward, deeper into cover. But the small flame now dancing harmlessly at the base of a bush had revealed mangy gray fur, wasted forelimbs. And gleaming teeth, of course. No wolf sighting would be complete without slavering jaws.

"What is it?" whispered Marvel. She still grasped her torch, kneeling in a protective ball, as close to Killian as she could get. Killian's gaze tracked the slight wiggle of underbrush as the wolf stalked in a clockwise semicircle. Damn. He had hoped the animal would be too afraid to take on both of them all by itself. But by the looks of its scrawny form, it was clearly starving and desperate. It undoubtedly knew of his injury; the smell would be doubly enticing and may spur an attack where other circumstances might inspire caution.

"Bloody hell," sighed Killian. "Where's Red when you need her? I'd even take Granny in a pinch." He lit another branch while murmuring instructions to Marvel. "Stay as close to the fire as you can. If it lunges for you, try and smack it with your stick. Got it?"

Eyes wide with fear, Marvel nodded and gripped her weapon in both hands. Heaving a loud exhalation, Killian surged to his feet and hopped once to regain his balance squarely on one leg. Through muted pain, he managed an exasperated scowl, though his mouth hung open in a panting grimace.

"It's not worth it, mate; I can promise you that. Tough and malnourished, the both of us. And look at this. Eh?" He waved his hook, half in menace, half in useless banter. "Utterly indigestible. Give you terrible bellyache."

The wolf was unfazed; in fact, it had stopped circling and was now inching forward despite deterrent fires all around. Killian drew a steadying breath and attempted to prepare his stance for battle.

"Well, if we must…"

The fire sputtered at the tip of his stick, having difficulty with its living, green center. Pathetic sparks dropped toward the earth as Killian brandished the wood like a cutlass; they died out only inches from their source. The wolf's head lowered, its forelegs bending as it crouched in preparation. Killian set his teeth, willing himself to remain upright and alert long enough to repel the animal. Not kill it, necessarily; just convince it to search out easier prey.

The wolf gave no appreciable warning before it sprang. Reacting on pure instinct, Killian thrust his torch at the snapping jaw, at the same time slashing with his hook and yelling at the top of his lungs. Stung by the embers, the wolf yelped and cringed back, tail between its legs. But the wild swing had doused the flame entirely and left Killian with a plain, if slightly singed, club.

A frightened squeak from Marvel accompanied her captain's clumsy attempts to recover from the one-legged action; the wolf was quick to take advantage. With less to fear now that its target's weapon no longer burned, the animal reversed direction and lunged for Killian's injured leg.

Desperately, Killian thrust his stick at the open mouth; the wolf snapped the wood with barely an effort, but it provided enough of a distraction for Killian to sink his hook into his attacker's patchy pelt, between jaw and shoulder. This gave him momentary control of the snarling head, which he steered away from everything vital. But all momentum centered over his injured side, and the leg buckled beneath him. He crashed onto his hip, a hair's breadth from the campfire, the wolf straddling his chest.

As Killian twisted and pulled with his hook, wildly jabbing his fingers in search of the animal's trachea, he barely felt its claws floundering across his torso, raking him in an attempt to break free. Nor did he notice the abrupt howl of wind twisting fur and flame in all directions as it ripped through the camp. All he knew was the primal battle for survival, familiar to all creatures since the beginning of time.

A sudden, canine shriek split the relative quiet, and in an instant, the wolf tore its scruff free of both piercing hook and grappling hand. Killian threw his brace up over his face, expecting teeth through his jugular at any second. But the yelping arced over his body and streaked to the edge of the clearing. He opened his eyes just in time to see a glowing tail disappear into the underbrush. The breathless pirate snapped his head to the right and saw Marvel brandishing her torch and wearing a self-satisfied smile. And just behind her… a swirling, sparking portal. Stirring dirt, leaf litter, and auburn locks in a welcome whirlwind. Marvel held her hand out in offer.

"Come, love; before it returns."

Killian huffed a relieved, incredulous laugh before accepting the help. His limbs shook in reaction to the fading adrenaline; his mind raced with a myriad of less happy outcomes. Once on his feet and leaning heavily on Marvel, Killian winced,

"Thank you."

"No need." She glanced around, tossed her torch toward the dwindling fire, and without further comment, all but dragged Killian into the maelstrom.

As is the way with portals, their position upon entrance did not correspond with their exit. It took Killian several moments to catch his breath before he could comprehend his state of being. Which was, predictably, sprawled flat on his back, limbs akimbo, with a pulsing headache to mark the harsh landing. But even before he opened his eyes, he knew for certain that they hadn't ended where they had started. It was light, for one thing. He heard gulls and waves, smelled once again the brine that had receded by the time they made camp the night before. Wherever the portal had taken them, at least it was away from that ravenous wolf.

Killian felt fingers brushing sand from his face, and he groaned. The blaze in his leg was back; for a panicked instant, he wondered whether he'd moved at all since the first time. Had he dreamed all of that effort?

But he opened his eyes, and there crouched Marvel, patting him with relief. Her shock of hair appeared a bit worse for wear, matted with sand and tied in erratic knots, and there was a superficial scrape on her nose. But she beamed down at him.

"That was exciting! The travel, I mean, not the fighting. What kind of shark was that?"

Killian gave a pained smirk, then sat up. "No shark at all, my dear; that was a wolf. Quite a vicious one, at that. I've no doubt you saved your old captain's life."

Marvel shrugged off the thanks yet again. "I could not have done otherwise. But I… well, first I wished we were away from the place; you have no idea how terrified I was for your well-being."

Killian probed gingerly at the burning scratches that adorned his torso and the underside of his arm. They were minor, barely oozing blood, though they stung like the devil. "I can imagine."

"It must have been enough to trigger the portal. It occurs to me that the first portal was a reaction to fear, as well."

"Sounds logical." Killian dropped his hand and began to scour their surroundings. Looked like another deserted beach: brilliant. Just what they needed. "Did you happen to have a destination in mind as we stepped through?"

She gulped. "Well, no. Not in particular. Just… anywhere away from there." She looked around as well. "I'm sorry, dearest; I should have-"

"No matter," Killian told her gently, despite a strong temptation to bemoan their luck. "I was thinking of Storybrooke, but it seems the conflicting destinations were enough to confound the thing."

"Perhaps I can create another." But she looked doubtful, knowing that she lacked the inspiring terror of ten minutes ago. Killian, meanwhile, had spotted something intriguing… and promising.

"It's okay, lass - look there. Do you see? Appears to be a sign, at the end of that dock. What say we investigate?"

It wasn't quite as simple as he made it sound. Killian's struggle with the wolf had sapped the majority of his waning strength, and renewed anguish in his leg threatened to send him tumbling into oblivion with each step. But as they neared the sign, hope surged.

 _Welcome to Parker River National Wildlife Refuge,_ it read. And in the bottom corner, in full color: an official government logo, complete with the stars and stripes of a US flag. It may not be Storybrooke… but they were as good as home.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Rescue at last; thank the gods."

The vehicle was still a ways off, approaching at a leisurely pace. Killian all but teared up in relief. The road they had been hobbling along for the past hour was apparently less than well-traveled, and Killian doubted that either of them had the strength to carry on for much longer. A steady mist saturated the whole world, chilling them to the core, and every bone in Killian's body ached. Each step jolted through his injured leg, ripping small grunts and groans from his throat as he fought to remain upright. The bottoms of his unprotected feet felt raw and torn, he was exhausted, freezing, parched… very close to giving up hope of ever seeing Storybrooke again. The only thing that kept him going, of course, was the image of his lovely Swan. In two ways: how overjoyed he would be to see her again… and how much she would kick his ass if he were to lie down and die when he was so close.

Marvel tripped along beside him, silent, stoically putting one foot in front of the other. She had to be feeling much the same way; his coat offered _some_ protection, but not a lot. And his oversized boots were probably wearing the skin off of her uncalloused feet and ankles. But she never complained. Soon, her patience would be rewarded; soon, she could have rest and her first meal ever.

As the car drew nearer, Killian began to worry it wouldn't stop. That it would drive past with no offer of help; that they would be left with no recourse but to continue their agonizing hike. Scowling, Killian vowed he wouldn't let that happen. He limped to a halt and brushed his stump softly against Marvel's arm. She also stopped and turned to face him, a tired question in her eyes.

"Wait here, love. We're catching this ride, if I have to commandeer the vessel and drive it myself."

She remained on the side of the road while Killian hobbled boldly into the middle of the lane. The vehicle could either stop, cross into the opposing side, or plow through the pirate. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

Donning his best pitiable expression, Killian stared directly through the windshield, waving his blunted left arm in the hopes that it would attract even more mercy from the driver. The headlights loomed, and Killian sucked in an anxious breath… but the car slowed to a stop, a very safe distance between them. Killian swallowed his gasp of relief as the driver opened the door, a cell phone clearly visible in his hand.

"You folks okay? What happened?"

Killian staggered closer; the gentleman behind the wheel, who appeared to be the vehicle's only occupant, swung his legs out and stood. He was older, short white hair matched a day's growth of whiskers over chin and cheeks. He wore flannel, denim, and a comfortable-looking coat against the chill. Killian smiled a cordial, non-threatening greeting; he didn't have to try very hard to hang onto the pitiful vibe he hoped to project.

"Thank you for stopping. There was a boating accident; we got stranded with no way to call for help. Would you allow me to use your phone?"

The man glanced down at the screen, over at the scantily-clothed Marvel, back to the equally destitute pirate. Apparently deciding that they posed no threat, he sighed in disgust. "Not much signal out here, bud. Sorry. But if you'd like, I can give you a ride into town; you can get help there."

"We would be forever in your debt," Killian replied, a shiver of pure relief racing up his spine and settling in his throat. He shifted his weight and held out his hand. "Killian Jones."

The good Samaritan stepped closer and accepted the handshake.

"Tom Truman." Then he saw Killian's leg wound and whistled in amazement. "You came all the way from the beach with that?"

"No choice, I'm afraid." Killian beckoned Marvel to come join them. Slightly hesitant, she nevertheless obeyed. "My cousin, Marvel."

Tom raised startled eyebrows when he realized she had nothing on under the coat. "Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you, Marvel. I'm Tom."

She fixed her gaze on Killian, who tried to convey confidence.

"Tom like…" She trailed off, sinking back into her shell of weary endurance. Killian smiled softly at her.

"Aye." He quickly explained to the other man, "We knew another Tom, years back. It seems all in possession of the name are of good character."

"Ah. Glad to hear it." This Tom pressed a button on his keys to unlock the car. "Let's get both of you off your feet and out of the cold."

He opened the door behind the driver's seat, and Killian put his empty brace on Marvel's lower back, guiding her gently toward the car. She wore an anxious, distrustful expression; one that Killian recognized. Quietly, he murmured a reassurance.

"Don't worry, darling. It may seem intimidating, but it's quite safe."

Tom stepped out of the way, and Killian nodded at Marvel. Awkwardly, clumsily, she folded herself to slide into the space. The instant she was off her feet, the relief was evident on her face. Killian gave a small smile and nod as she dragged her legs inside.

"Hands in, that's it."

When she was safely away from the door, Killian closed it behind her, seeing some of the relief drain away and apprehension return. As quickly as he could, he hop-limped to the other side. Then he began the painful process of throwing himself into the backseat on the passenger side. Crouching and bending his knee pulled terribly on the blistered burns, and he clamped down on threatening cries of pain. Pulling his legs inside was another ordeal, and he was left panting, his eyes screwed shut as his fingers nearly dug holes into the upholstery at his side.

Already buckled and awaiting the door's closure, Tom watched Killian in the rearview mirror. "You all right back there?"

Not yet able to form coherent words, Killian nodded stiffly, struggling through the pain until he could grasp the interior door handle and pull it shut. After a moment, Tom started the engine and smoothly accelerated; still shuddering, Killian felt Marvel scoot across and clutch at his upper arm in terror. Gingerly, the pirate shifted his injured leg so that it wasn't _quite_ so close to his seatmate. Then, gritting his teeth, he reached back and fumbled for his seatbelt.

Once he was buckled in, he twisted slightly - not the greatest plan, scolded his leg - so that he could take one of Marvel's hands in his own. Gesturing with his brace, he murmured,

"Marvel, can you reach the strap? Up there, near your shoulder."

Trembling, the woman reached back blindly, groping for the belt until she contacted its fastening.

"Pull it towards me; that's right."

With a little wrestling - and a lot of grimacing - Killian managed to get her buckled in beside him. In a tight voice, he said through a contrived smile,

"There, now; all secured for the journey."

Still clinging to him, Marvel watched his face as varying levels of pain made an appearance. Killian inclined his head toward his window.

"Try watching outside, love. You can see the land go by, yeah? Just like when we're sailing."

Marvel tore her eyes from his face and took his advice, shivering when she observed their impressive speed along the road. In a small voice, she replied,

"There are no waves."

"Granted, it is quite smooth sailing."

She shuddered and gripped him tighter. "I prefer having you at the helm, my Captain."

Killian noticed Tom's eyes on them and tried a placating smile. "We… don't travel much by auto."

"I see. Now, where did you say you were from, again?"

"I don't believe I did say. But it's a place called Storybrooke; quite a small town in the northeast of Maine."

"Never heard of it." Tom's gaze returned to the road, and Killian shifted in his seat, wincing.

"That's hardly surprising, mate. Look, if you don't mind my asking, where is it we're heading?"

"Newburyport. You're in Massachusetts, my friend."

"Aye? I'll admit, we got a bit off-course. Didn't exactly do our due diligence. Believe me; I'll never make that mistake again."

Killian was mainly spouting this nonsense to put their driver at ease. Even to Killian, their situation appeared unusual; he could only imagine what this ordinary man, unused to crazy magical happenings, was thinking about it.

"Well, it'll be another 20 minutes or so. Figure I can drop you off at the local hospital and not go too much out of my way."

"That won't be necessary," Killian assured him quickly. "All I really want is to be able to call my wife; she can come pick us up."

"Your wife? In northeast Maine?"

Killian nodded, frowning slightly at the man's tone. "Aye; what of it?"

"Bud, that's at least a four hour drive, if she drops everything and leaves now. You're gonna, what, wait on a street corner? Both of you half-naked, and you with a bum leg?"

Killian couldn't slip his hand free of Marvel's to scratch behind his ear. "Bloody hell. Well, when you put it like that…"

"At the very least, they can keep you warm and dry while you wait. Probably provide a decent meal, too. Maybe even some scrubs."

With a reluctant sigh, Killian gave in; more for Marvel's sake than his own. "All right, mate; you've convinced me. Hospital it is."

The problem with that, of course, was that they would want to start all sorts of expensive and probably painful examinations and treatments of his leg, when all he needed was to wait it out until Emma could get to him and heal it. He wondered what it would take to talk them into delaying treatment.

They spent the next several moments in silence. Killian had been sure that Marvel would relax once she saw what the trip was like, but she remained tense, nearly squeezing all circulation from his hand. He realized that not only was the method of travel unfamiliar, but it was also the first time she'd been in such an enclosed space. He shifted his left arm, bringing it up and around her shoulders. She snuggled closer, an innocent action meant only to soak in as much reassurance as she could.

A few minutes later, Tom's phone chimed multiple times in indication of messages received while out of tower range. The man removed it from its cradle on the center console, deftly unlocking the screen and setting it to the keypad before reaching it back toward the pirate in the backseat.

"You can try your wife, if you want. Still might get disconnected, though."

Killian did not care about the possibility - there was nothing he'd rather do than hear the voice of his wife, regardless of how long it lasted. Quickly, he untangled his hand from Marvel's death grip, which turned out to be a regrettable decision when her hands went for the nearest alternative: his wounded thigh. Killian yelped, the car swerved, and the phone dropped to the floor at their feet. Marvel realized immediately her mistake, and her hands flew to her mouth as she whined,

"I'm sorry; I'm so sorry, my love; so sorry-"

Killian bit his tongue against the curses that wanted to spill. Hissing in and out slowly, he forced his face into as patient an expression as he could muster. He wiggled his stump free and offered it as a less painful option, mumbling,

"'Salright, love; I know it was unintentional."

After taking a moment to gently comfort the throbbing flesh, he then began the arduous task of locating the errant phone. By the time he had retrieved it, he was sweating, dizzy with pain, and near nausea. Marvel gripped his forearm, though with slightly less desperation than before.

By some miracle, the phone had remained unlocked during the delay, though he'd accidentally pressed something to navigate away from talk mode. Thankfully, the device was similar to Emma's in layout, so Killian managed to get back to the keypad. He eagerly dialed his wife's number, hoping she would decide to answer and not screen the unknown caller.

"Sheriff Swan."

Despite everything, Killian's heart leapt to hear her, love and joy surging through him until all he could do was grin.

"Swan, it's Killian."

"Killian! Thank God!" Her anxious relief was very audible in her tone. "What happened? Are you okay? Where the hell did you go?"

"I'm okay, love; I'm so sorry. I actually…" He paused, unsure how to explain himself with the stranger listening in. He'd been so focused on reaching her that he hadn't prepared the words. "Just a bit of an accident, but nothing too serious. I had hoped-"

"A 'bit' of an accident? Killian, it's been two days! I've been out of my mind, looking for you; you haven't answered any of my calls…"

"Apologies, love. To the best of my knowledge, that blasted thing is in the clutches of Davy Jones. This is the very first opportunity I've had of contacting you."

Emma released all of her pent-up fear and frustration in a long, loud sigh. Then she said,

"That's okay. I'm just glad to hear your voice. What is this area code? Seems familiar."

"Somewhere in Massachussetts, I'm told."

"Newburyport," supplied Tom, which Killian repeated.

"We're heading for a hospital in the area, mostly for temporary refuge."

"Temporary, huh?" She sounded more relaxed now, the teasing back in her voice. "What were you going to do then? Find a bus?"

With a tired laugh, Killian coaxed a bit of playfulness into his own voice. "Well I was hoping to cajole a ride from my beloved."

"Oh. So you want me to go find my dad."

Killian played along despite his weariness. "Do you think he would mind?"

He was rewarded by a responding snicker. "Yeah, he'd be thrilled to make a 10-hour trip in his 300,000-mile truck."

"Trailing smoke all the way?"

"Most likely." After a beat, as if she'd had just thought of it, she added, "Well, I know of someone else who might be convinced to come down. If the price is right."

"Oh believe me, Swan, I'll make it worth your while."

Emma laughed at his shamelessness. "Cool it, pirate; aren't you on a stranger's phone in a stranger's car?"

"What if I am?"

She didn't reply; she didn't need to. Instead, her tone softened. "I'll be there as soon as I can. So glad you're okay. What's the name of the place where you'll be waiting?"

Killian relayed the question to Tom, who replied,

"Anna Jaques Hospital," loud enough for Emma to hear.

"Got it. Putting it in the GPS now." Then: "Hospital. Why am I not surprised?"

"It's nothing, love. No need to concern yourself."

"I'm sure. This coming from a guy who thinks a broken bone is a minor inconvenience."

"It is, compared to some things."

She sighed. "I love you, Killian. See you in 4 hours and 47 minutes."

"Thank you, Emma. Love you too. And… it may be helpful for you to bring a couple of spare sets of clothing. Some of mine as well as yours, if you will."

"Do I even want to know?"

"It's complicated as ever," he admitted. She sighed again; that longsuffering sound he'd come to love.

"Okay. 4 hours and 57 minutes, then."

"Drive safely."

She made a grunt of acknowledgement before the line went dead; Killian imagined she was already jumping in her car as she made the first call in an ever-expanding phone tree of friends and loved ones. Killian locked the cell and handed it forward with a wincing,

"Thanks."

"No problem. Glad you got through." Tom tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat. Killian could tell that he was still curious about their story, but figured the phone exchange had to have sounded fairly normal. In any case, Tom did not press for further details.

They had started passing residential streets, houses that wouldn't have been out of place in Killian's own neighborhood. But, it turned out, they had to pass through Newbury first to get to the hospital, which was miles farther down the road.

Finally, Killian caught sight of the brick building, nicely manicured, but quite a bit smaller even than Storybrooke General. Tom pulled into the Emergency Entrance turnaround, put his car in park, and unlocked the doors.

"Well, this is it," he announced. "It's not much; pretty small town. But they should be able to take care of you."

Killian looked at the building with distaste before heaving a resigned sigh. "Aye, I expect so. All right, Marvel; we've reached our port of call. All ashore."

The woman by his side stirred. Now that the car had stopped, she was relaxing in gradual increments, and Killian successfully coaxed her to put enough distance between them for him to release both of their seatbelts. He managed to get the door open, then practically threw himself out onto the curb; his leg howled a protest, and he growled out his pain even as he held his hand down to assist Marvel to her feet. Through a sweaty grimace, he ducked to offer a final thanks to their benefactor before he drove away.

The mist was now a definite drizzle. Killian offered an elbow to his companion; she slipped both arms around in a not-quite-usual acceptance of the gesture. Then, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the thought of his upcoming contact with this realm's medical professionals, Killian led the way through the automatic doors into the small, orderly reception area of the hospital's emergency department.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The unusual duo earned scathing stares from the fortunately sparse number of patients in the ED waiting area. The receptionist, too, appeared suitably alarmed as she stood to assess the incoming situation.

"Please; don't come any further. Have a seat, and I'll come to you."

Killian guided an increasingly-jumpy Marvel to a pair of chairs near the window, virtually falling into one himself with a grateful groan. He steered his companion into the one beside him - on the right, this time, just in case. Marvel slunk sideways into the seat so that she could keep the outside in view.

The pirate grimaced a nod at the receptionist, who was approaching with clipboard in hand. "Are you two all right? What happened?"

Killian waved his hand dismissively, brushing off her concern. "Boating mishap. We're fine; merely cold and a bit wet. Thirsty. But we're awaiting transport home, and could do with shelter until it arrives."

The woman was scribbling notes. "What sort of mishap?"

"Er…" Killian sought desperately to make up a believable story on the spot. "We got blown off-course. Struck a reef."

"And your leg?"

Killian tugged at the cuff with his other foot, trying to cover the extent of the injury with what was left of the denim. This had the unfortunate side effect of painful friction against the blisters, and he couldn't stop a wince.

"Pro...peller?" he said slowly with an attempt at a disarming smile. She winced in sympathy and made more notations. Killian's gaze roamed her uniform until it lit on the nametag pinned to her chest. "Listen, Sara; there's no need to go to any bother. Perhaps just a quiet place to rest, some sustenance; we'll pay for it all as soon as my wife arrives."

Sara's eyes flicked to Marvel shivering at Killian's side. "Your wife?"

"Aye," he replied firmly. "She'll be here in approximately four and a half hours."

"I see." Her body language was making it clear that she didn't. "Well, sir, here's the deal. We aren't exactly a homeless shelter, or even a rest stop. But we _are_ required to provide initial assessment and stabilization of emergent medical conditions, which you clearly have. So… you allow us to take care of that leg for you, and you'll get the rest along with it. Sound fair?"

Exasperated, Killian let his gaze drift to the tangible soul of his ship. Human, in need of basic necessities, with no clue how to go about seeking them for herself. He sighed.

"And my cousin?"

"We'll check you both out and make sure your accident didn't cause any hidden injuries." Sara's demeanor softened, a hint of appeasement creeping into her voice. "You'll both be well-treated, despite any ability or inability to pay. Okay? Trust me."

How could Killian say no? Without the explanation of magic, which the lass was unlikely to believe anyway, he would seem a fool to refuse that which he had expressly been seeking. He had no choice.

"Fine. But can we be allowed to remain together? I fear… well, let's just say she's not all here, mentally. It would be best if I could provide a familiar face for her."

Sara looked from one to the other, saying,

"I'll do my best." She passed the clipboard to the pirate, adding, "Fill out these forms. We'll have a room available for you as soon as we can."

Killian made a face as he balanced the paperwork on his uninjured leg. It would be a challenge, trying to create a believable profile for Marvel. His own history was complicated enough, although he and Emma had previously worked together to translate everything into a non-magical context.

He had not nearly finished the forms when a transporter approached them, pushing a wheelchair and announcing,

"We're ready for you in the back. Here, let me take that for you."

The man set aside clipboard and pen, then offered Killian his hand. Grumbling quietly, Killian allowed himself to be maneuvered into the chair. After the paperwork was settled back on his lap, he held out his hand toward a skeptically watching Marvel.

"Come along, lass."

She quietly got down and took his hand, and the three of them made their way into an exam room, where a nurse was busy setting up. Killian was deposited onto a cheap, plastic chair in the corner before the wheelchair man whisked out of the room. Marvel perched on the edge of another, but as soon as the door closed, she leapt up, pulling her hand away from Killian's as she paced restlessly.

"Good morning, Mr…" The nurse trailed off.

"Jones," supplied Killian. "Killian Jones. And my cousin, Marvel."

"Mr. Jones. I'm Tracy. Let's get both of you into gowns, and then I'll take your vital signs."

"I haven't yet finished the paperwork," Killian stated sheepishly, but the nurse waved off his concern.

"There will be time while you wait for a doc." She lifted a folded garment and shook it open, turning toward Marvel; Killian eyed the distasteful thing with disdain. "Come here, sweetie. Let's get you out of that wet coat."

Marvel shrank back into the corner, all traces of rationality lost in stormy fear. Killian pushed himself painfully to his feet, picturing the chaos that would ensue from an accidental portal appearing in the middle of the room.

"Better demonstrate on me, first," he said calmly. "Sometimes she can't deal with the unknown."

Tracy nodded, bringing the gown over to where Killian stood with his blunted arm resting on the exam table for balance. They worked together to remove the torn, bloodstained remains of his shirt, as well as the straps securing his brace. Then, after helping him get his arms through the short sleeves of the gown, Tracy went around behind her patient to secure the ties, while he wore a contrived smile of serenity for Marvel's sake. The nurse bustled back to his front, saying,

"We'll need those jeans off; I'm thinking I'll have you stand just in front of the chair while we unbutton and slide them down, then sit so you don't have to put weight on the leg. Make sense?"

Killian nodded once, and the nurse assisted him into position. She held a hand on his arm to help support him, then lifted the front of the gown to give him access to the snap and zipper. He made quick work of the fastenings, not particularly eager to shed the garment and potentially brush the denim along the painful blisters, but knowing it would be best to get it over with as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Tracy was very careful to hold the fabric up in multiple places to prevent inadvertent contact. Killian released a tense breath when the jeans were safely down around his ankles.

"Sit," commanded Tracy, and Killian obeyed stiffly, wincing. The nurse allowed him to arrange the gown so that it would not be resting atop his thigh. After pulling each leg of denim out from under his feet in turn, she removed his sodden and stained socks for good measure, replacing them with a hospital-issue pair that had rubber grips on the bottoms. Killian felt an immediate improvement in comfort as his toes reveled in the new source of warmth. Flashing a silly grin at Marvel, he tried to reflect contentment and well-being as the nurse turned away.

"Next."

Tracy retrieved the second gown and opened it up. Concerned for the welfare of his companion, Killian asked,

"Don't you have anything a bit warmer for her? These aren't exactly fur coats, here."

"I have a blanket she can put on over it," Tracy assured him. "Once the doc clears her, maybe we can rustle up some scrubs."

Tracy approached Marvel cautiously, as if trying to avoid spooking a wild animal. Still the woman backed away, arms folded around herself protectively. Both the nurse and Killian spoke soothingly, trying different tactics to calm and pacify her - to no avail. Finally, Killian got to his feet.

"Let me have a go?"

The nurse seemed less than pleased with the idea, especially once Killian started limping forward, pain clear on his face. But she passed the gown over to him; either she saw his determination, or she had reached the point of willingness to try anything to get the task accomplished.

Killian stopped when he got within a few feet of Marvel, hating the terror and confusion apparent in her eyes. In a low, compassionate tone, he murmured,

"Everything is fine, Marvel. Shipshape, aye?"

There may have been the briefest flicker of recognition then; he couldn't be sure. So he continued.

"I promise you'll be more comfortable in this ridiculous thing. There's nothing to fear." He took one step closer. "Do you think you can allow it? On captain's orders?" He gave a teasing wink as he took another hobbling step. She seemed about to submit as he reached out for her arm… but then she whimpered and stepped back. Killian didn't give up.

"What is it, love? How can I help you?"

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, just for a second, before her gaze jumped away again. In the smallest voice, barely audible even to Killian, she whispered,

"The sky is gone."

"The sky?" In much the same tone and volume: "Darling, the sky is still there. We've just… lost sight of it for the moment. Like when clouds obscure our view of the stars."

She had no frame of reference for this. That was the problem. All her life - if it could be called such - she'd been outdoors, the vast expanse above her a constant companion. It must feel so small, so confined in comparison. Killian watched her for a moment, heart breaking for the panic she was experiencing. Then he turned to face Tracy, who was occupied with other tasks even as she watched the interaction.

"I… think she's claustrophobic," explained the pirate, tossing the gown onto the exam table and heading back toward his uncomfortable chair. "Is there a room with a window, by chance? I think that could be a help."

"I'll see what I can do," promised Tracy, her expression unreadable. "I suppose she can stay in the jacket, if that's what she wants. Let's just focus on you for the time being."

Killian rolled his eyes with a less-than-eager nod. He allowed the nurse to measure his vitals while he watched Marvel in concern. When she'd finished, Tracy set aside her equipment, asking,

"So… how did she lose her clothing?"

Killian froze, staring blatantly at the nurse while his brain scrambled to keep up. "Pardon?"

"You had a boating accident; ran aground, I heard. Where are her clothes?"

All Killian could think of was: "She… fancied a bit of a swim. While I tried to salvage the situation."

"Skinny dipping? In this weather?"

Killian ran his fingers through his scalp. "There's… sometimes no accounting for her actions, I've discovered." He attempted a wan smile, the excuse sounding as lame to him as he was sure it did to her.

"And then you hurt your leg. On the propeller."

"That's right." Trying to diffuse the situation with a bit of self-deprecation, he held up his stump with a shrug. "You'd think I would have learned from the last time. Folly must be genetic."

"Hmm." Tracy was writing in his chart, a serious expression on her face. She glanced again at his wound, though she'd had plenty of time to ogle it while she took his vitals. "And you, what, decided to cauterize it yourself?"

Responding to her suspiciously accusatory tone, Killian drew himself up and hardened his demeanor. "Well I could hardly make it to shore while trailing an invitation to the sharks, now could I?" He cocked his head, watching her scribble, trying in vain to decipher her pen strokes. "What exactly are you getting at, love?"

Calmly, the nurse met his eyes; she didn't seem intimidated in the slightest. "I'm just trying to get the whole story, Mr. Jones. We try to track as many details as we can, both so we can treat you to the best of our ability, and also for correct statistics keeping."

"Statistics?"

"Yeah. You know: '1 in 20 Americans are affected by XYZ.'"

He scoffed; the made-up story was so unlikely that he doubted even 1 in 1 million people would share any similarities. "Well, that's all there is to it. I've no cause to conceal anything from you."

Killian's centuries as a villain had given him plenty of experience in deception… but his recent reformation had left him a bit out of practice. Which was a good thing, of course, except he could tell that Tracy was not convinced. But she didn't grill him any further. Instead, she moved to where a phone hung from the wall, picking it up and saying,

"Ben, it's Tracy. Could you let Dr. Stevens know there's a patient waiting in Room 7, please? I'll be here until then. Thanks."

She gave Killian a professional smile. "It will just be a few moments. What say we save some time while we're waiting? I'm about 99.9% sure you'll be getting IV antibiotics for your leg. Let's go ahead and get you set up; that way, we can start them as soon as the doctor puts in the order."

Not surprised in the least, Killian donned his most polite smile as he objected. "That won't be necessary - we'll be heading home shortly, and I'll seek treatment there."

Tracy was already gathering the supplies she would need. "That's no reason not to get started here. You can keep the catheter in place, if you're careful, and they can use it wherever you transfer to." She pulled an equipment stand near his chair, adding, "Given your slightly elevated temperature, I would guess you're already developing an infection, and it's always better to start treatment as soon as possible."

And again, Killian had no rational grounds to object, short of saying how pointless it would all be, because his wife would magically heal the injury and all trace of infection within a few hours. He would never be believed, and Tracy would have even more reason to question his story… and his sanity. Plus, further protest could add to Marvel's distress, especially when it came to her own examination, and Killian didn't want to be responsible for that. So he swallowed his displeasure and showed a fake grin.

"Have at it, lass; my veins are yours."

It was more an annoyance than anything; the momentary sting of the needle in his forearm was nothing compared to the pain still afflicting his leg. He caught Marvel watching anxiously, and winked in reassurance. In no time, the catheter was secured in place, a couple of tubes of blood drawn, and the extension line plugged for later use.

"There we go," announced Tracy cheerily. "All set."

Saving her from an insincere reply, at that moment, there was a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a white-coated physician. Tracy quickly cleared away her supplies as Dr. Stevens perused the notes in Killian's chart. Killian noted Marvel trying to shrink even further into the back corner of the room.

"Mr. Jones, I'm Dr. Stevens. Mind if I take a look at your leg?"

"Suppose you'd better." Killian had decided to just play along from now on, and only refuse major intervention. A mere few hours and he could be done with it all.

"Let's get you up on the table, where the light's better," suggested Stevens.

This was a tricky proposition and caused no small amount of pain. Once Killian was situated, Tracy said,

"I'll be right back; just something quick to take care of."

"How about that window?" Killian reminded her, and she nodded evasively.

"Right. That too." She scurried outside, pulling the door firmly closed behind her.

Dr. Stevens had been adjusting the overhead light, and now began his examination of the bruised, blistered scar along Killian's thigh. The pirate leaned back against the elevated head of the bed, fidgeting with the gown at his side to try and distract himself.

The physician rehashed the details of the injury; Killian continued to insist that the gash had been caused by the boat propeller, and that he had used a bit of fishing equipment heated on the engine to cauterize it and stop the bleeding. His expanding knowledge of this world's technology provided that piece of the story, although he had no idea if boat engines would get that hot, or if it was even possible to transfer the energy to said metal. But the doctor seemed to accept his word.

To Killian's relief, little probing of the wound itself was required. Stevens merely observed the extent of the swelling, discoloration, and blistering, then moved on to a brief check of the pirate's general health after the alleged accident.

Not once did the subject of the cowering, half-naked woman come up.

Tracy returned just as Dr. Stevens was finishing. She carried a bag of saline, still in its plastic pouch, along with a separately-sealed bag of tubing. The physician exchanged a glance with her, nodded, and addressed Killian.

"Looks like you escaped major injury apart from that leg. My recommendation is definitely going to be IV fluids and antibiotics, and we'll give you something to take the edge off the pain, as well. I'll put in a referral for a consultation with an orthopedic surgeon, which you can take to your facility at home. They'll determine whether it would be prudent to consider surgical intervention, to prevent some of the scarring that will likely develop. For now, though, I would like to do a CT scan of the wound to rule out bone or blood vessel involvement."

Killian bit his tongue firmly for a moment until he could regain the patience that was quickly slipping out of his grasp. "That's all well and good, but what of my cousin? She hasn't had anything to eat or drink for hours; is there a reason for depriving her of basic necessities? Surely she could have a cup of water without undergoing every single protocol first."

Stevens and Tracy exchanged another look... one that set the pirate's teeth on edge. They were keeping something from him; he was sure of it.

"It's… always better to know exactly what's going on first," explained Dr. Stevens carefully. "For example, if she were to have an internal injury and required urgent surgery, we would want her stomach as empty as possible."

"Bloody hell," hissed Killian. He was fairly certain that she was fine and wouldn't need any sort of medical intervention if they would just _allow her to have a measly drink._ But on the other hand… he had obviously been unconscious when they went through the first portal, and couldn't remember the moments leading up to it. There was the possibility, however slight, that she did have something ailing her and didn't know how to express it. "Any progress on the window, then?"

"Just waiting for a room to clear," chirped Tracy, a bit too quickly. "It shouldn't be long."

The nurse began to set up the IV bag while Dr. Stevens wrote his orders in the chart. Then the physician stated,

"I have other patients to see, but once the lady is calm, I'll be back to check her out. All right?" He turned to Marvel with a gentle smile, apparently trying to win her trust, but she wouldn't have it. Her arms remained folded firmly around herself, her eyes wild.

Unoffended, Stevens took his leave. Tracy skillfully attached the IV to the extension and got it flowing into Killian's vein at a high rate. She used only the clamping mechanism to control it, no pump for the time being. It was hanging from a pole near the exam table, and Killian thought the line would reach if he wanted to return to his chair. But for now, his leg was more comfortable in its current position, and moving for no reason seemed like a bad idea. So he settled back.

"If you'll pass me the clipboard, I'll use this time to complete the paperwork," offered Killian, and Tracy got it for him. He expected the nurse to leave then. But she stayed, slowly cleaning up and then meandering aimlessly through the room, opening drawers and cupboards, seeming at loose ends. Killian completed a few blanks on the forms and then stopped to watch her, finally saying,

"You know, if you've better things to do, you can go. Neither of us is likely to drop dead in the near future."

Tracy made a noticeable effort to appear busy. "No, it's fine. This… counter needs disinfecting. And as soon as I leave, it will be time to move you; that's just how it usually turns out."

Killian shrugged and returned to the paperwork. But again, he didn't get very far before getting distracted, this time by Marvel as she shifted her weight on what must have been very tired and sore feet.

"Marvel, darling; would you like to join me?" called Killian softly. "There's room."

Marvel sidled closer in single steps, pausing after each. But she stopped once she was within reach of the table. Killian sighed.

"Perhaps you could visualize the sky. Imagine it there, just above the filthy ceiling tiles." A beat. "Do you know that word, love? Imagine?"

"I've heard it," whispered the ship incarnate, timid. Killian tried to think of it from her perspective.

"What does it look like to you, the sky? Can you see it in your mind?"

She was instantly shaking her head; perhaps she hadn't yet conceptualized what a mind was. He tried again.

"Close your eyes. It's all right; no one will come near. I promise."

The length of her blinks increased until she was holding her eyes closed for at least a few seconds at a time. It would have to do.

"Imagination is sight without using your eyes. The ability to paint a picture in your head of something that isn't really there."

Marvel turned her gaze on him for an instant before staring at her feet again. "I see now. Like when you've gone to be with your wife, but I can still feel you within."

Killian felt a pang at the loneliness expressed in her words, though that was not her intent. "Aye, love. Just like that."

All progress was lost when the same transport staff member came through the door with the same wheelchair in hand. Marvel scurried back to her corner retreat, closed off once more. Tracy's tone was still too bright as she exclaimed,

"Ah, the room must be ready!"

She made quick work of transferring the IV onto the wheelchair's pole, following which the two of them assisted Killian into the seat. While he recovered his breath, Tracy settled the clipboard onto his uninjured leg.

"Ready?"

Killian beckoned at Marvel. "Follow us, lass. We're going to see the sky for real now."

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In their new room, Marvel immediately made her way to the window, which had the lower shades drawn for privacy but contained upper panels through which clouds and drizzle were clearly visible. Killian saw her relax dramatically, though she still clutched at the coat with both hands.

Two vials were waiting for Tracy on the counter; she checked the labels and drew differing amounts into two syringes, which she then injected into the IV bag above Killian's head. The nameless transporter was gone, having left him in the wheelchair - probably as an efficient way to take him for the useless imaging of his leg when the time came. And again, Tracy remained.

Killian finally had enough uninterrupted time to finish the forms, which he handed off to the nurse. Then he trained his attention back on Marvel. She was staring outside, swaying slightly, a much more serene look on her face. And it gladdened his heart.

He had expected a significantly longer wait before they were ready for him in Radiology - wasn't that usually how things worked in hospitals? Even small ones like this? But the transporter was back already, and Tracy was making no move to follow them out the door, and suddenly he realized that Marvel would be left behind. Of course she would; she couldn't come with him even if she didn't require a window, but the obvious fact had not crossed his mind before.

"Hold on, wait," he implored the man pushing his chair, who slowed briefly but didn't stop. "Marvel, love; I'll be back in a bit. Don't worry, okay? Stay with this nice lady, and perhaps she'll finally bring you some water."

"Water," repeated Marvel dreamily, not seeming too upset with his leaving. Killian hoped it would remain that way once he was out of sight.

He could trust the staff to treat her well, couldn't he?

The door shut behind them with a final click, and his mind inevitably returned to his own first encounter with the medicine of this realm. He remembered the pain and the fear, how everything looked and sounded and smelled threatening and unfamiliar, and how the only thing that had helped him stay sane was the thought that someone he knew - someone he trusted, even if she didn't quite feel the same yet - was looking out for him. Making sure he was taken care of, hidden from the demon who would have gladly killed him. Coming to see him afterwards, if only to pepper him with questions for which he had no answer.

In any situation, a friendly face is irreplaceable. Killian hoped they would hurry up with their scan and let him get back as soon as possible.

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 **AN: Sorry for the length of this chapter - I couldn't find a good place to break it up. It's in my outline as "Hospital Mega-Chapter" :) PS- Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave comments; I really appreciate each one and I'm so happy about the positive reception! A particular shout out to the guest reviewer who hoped I wouldn't skip the hospital care! You and I have similar tastes, my friend. I would never pass up an opportunity for a hospital scene (in fact, it's the whole reason I made them land in Massachusetts rather than Storybrooke!) I hope this one has been satisfactory so far...**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: *TRIGGER WARNING for vague (and totally untrue) mentions of possible sexual assault and its investigation. Many thanks to the wonderful lillpon for her sage advice!**

Chapter 10

The CT took time, of course. It turned out that they weren't even ready for him, as they had claimed, and Killian ended up waiting at least a quarter of an hour in a tiny prep room off the main department. The only positives of what was essentially a closet: it was warmer than the hallways, and he wouldn't have to sit in his threadbare gown among all of the ambulatory patients in the main waiting room.

He had been given some generic magazine to help pass the time, but none of the articles were of any interest to him. The alternative, though, was to sit uncomfortably and count the number of times his leg throbbed per minute, which wasn't all that fun, either.

Alone for the first time since discovering the identity of his companion, Killian's mind kept wandering as varying emotions flooded through him. Number one was, naturally, concern for her well-being. Always fiercely protective of his ship, it was hardly a surprise that he would be the same in regards to her human self. In his imagination, he kept coming back to an awful image of faceless medical personnel holding her down, forcing their tests on her as she screamed. He knew it was unlikely. They had rules they were required to follow, certain guidelines on consent, and she posed no danger to anyone, including herself. But until he could be back in her presence, he would continue to worry and imagine the worst, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it away.

Second, shock. Still. The idea still startled him. Centuries aboard that lovely ship… he knew of the enchanted wood, talked to her as any proud captain would, but never imagined her sentience. Her understanding, a presence that could observe and empathize but not interact. It was poignant, perhaps a bit unsettling… and he was at a loss. She knew him in ways that no one else did. She'd watched him survive his darkest moments, heard him as he grieved and railed. Felt the loss as two precious passengers were tipped off her decks and given to the sea. Absorbed the blood of many, her captain's and his victims' alike. Rocked him to sleep when he was too drunk or injured or despairing to leave his cabin for days on end. She had been a solid presence through storm, curse, portal, and adventure. And she was here now, he could talk to her, and he had no idea what to say.

His thanks could never be enough.

By the time the test was over and he was on his way back to the exam room, Killian was jittery with nerves, impatient to see her again and assure himself of her welfare. The pain meds weren't helping, making him feel disconnected and edgy. So when he was brought back to their original room, it took him a moment to realize it.

"We've moved, mate," he snarled at the lad steering his wheelchair. But the boy was undeterred. He parked the chair in the middle of the room, set the brake, and mumbled,

"Doc will be in shortly."

"This is the wrong room, though… wait…"

Killian was alone, the door closed, and he cursed. He made a feeble attempt to turn the wheels himself before realizing he still possessed the ability to walk, albeit painfully. Just as he was limping his way toward the exit - pushing the chair before him because it was easier than trying to move the IV to the pole waiting on the other side of the room - in came two men. Dr. Stevens and a police officer. What the hell?

"Have a seat, Mr. Jones," commanded the physician seriously.

"What's going on? Where's Marvel?" Angry and afraid, Killian made no move to obey.

"We feel that there's probable cause to open an investigation into what really happened between you and Ms. Seaver."

At first, Killian's slightly drug-addled brain didn't make the connection. Then he remembered scrawling the surname for her, hoping it sounded normal enough for this land. He and Marvel, then. And that phrase.

"I'm under arrest, then?" he clarified, seething. Furious with the conclusions they had drawn. With himself for not seeing it coming. That was the reason for all of the secrecy, the chaperone, possibly even the expedited testing: they had wanted to separate them. And he couldn't even blame them for being suspicious. Doubtless, it looked strange, not far from sinister, and the necessity of lies at every turn did not help matters.

The officer followed all of the proper protocols as far as Killian could tell from his deputy training and experience. And he certainly couldn't fault the fellow for doing his job. It was just ironic that after all his decades of crime, the one thing he was under investigation for was something fictitious - a transgression he would never even consider committing.

"Ms. Seaver has already been examined for evidence, and a detective is conducting an interview," the police officer informed Killian.

"Is she okay?" Killian asked quietly. Poor girl. She probably didn't understand half the things they were doing and asking.

"She's much calmer now, cooperating willingly," reported Dr. Stevens. "She will be well looked after."

What followed was a spectacularly invasive search of Killian's person as the physician gathered potential evidence. Clothing bagged, samples and swabs collected, scrapings from beneath his fingernails. The slightest mark anywhere on his skin that could even hint at injury - and, thus, a struggle - documented and photographed. They took particular interest in the claw marks on his chest and arm: to a biased eye, they could easily represent a woman's desperate attempts at self-defense. And Killian's only explanation had to be a weak, obviously made-up story blaming the rocks on which they'd run aground.

Killian submitted passively, knowing that it would be easier overall if he did, and they wouldn't find anything incriminating in the end. It wasn't exactly fun, and he felt terrible that Marvel had had to undergo what was likely a very similar process, but he consoled himself with the fact that she hadn't yet developed the ingrained shame that made these types of procedures so humiliating.

Dressed in a new gown and socks - sans underwear now - Killian was directed up onto the exam table while all of the "evidence" was properly sealed and labeled. His digital fingerprints were taken, one of the few processes in life actually sped up by his lack of a left hand. Then he was handcuffed to the railing, despite assurances that he wouldn't try to flee. How could he, really, when he could barely walk unaided? Turned out it was more for the safety of "Ms. Seaver" than anything else, which he appreciated in a strange way. As Dr. Stevens left, Killian lay back, feeling helpless. His Swan would arrive to a very familiar sight… and he didn't even deserve it this time.

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 **AN: (Spoilers, I guess) - Just want to mention that this isn't going to turn into a long crime drama. I'm not really into that, and don't care to do a lot of research about court proceedings, etc. Just wanted some extra angst for the pirate before he's allowed to go home :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The short nap that Killian managed did little for his utter exhaustion; neither did it clear away the grogginess, which acted as a serious hindrance when it came time for his questioning. The detective started off friendly enough, with general discussion topics focusing more on hobbies and home life than the somber charges facing him. It was a tactic with which Killian was familiar, meant to put him at ease and get him used to opening up to the man.

With both policemen plus a lawyer in the room, Killian was given a break from the handcuffs and allowed a meal, but he remained on the table. There was no point in moving when he would eventually have to get back up anyway.

If the detective - Lynch - was surprised by Killian's profession, he did not show it. But it may have influenced how he conducted the questioning, believing him to be more acquainted with the process than the average layperson. The topic of discussion quickly turned to the "accident," and Killian braced himself for trouble.

"What model boat were you driving this morning?"

Killian listed a model he had recently tested in the Storybrooke harbor, adding,

"She was taking on water when we abandoned ship; I wouldn't be surprised if you were unable to locate her."

"I see. And she belongs to you? Registered under your name?"

"Aye." Killian figured that proof of ownership would be easy enough for Emma to magically produce.

"And your boating license is up to date?"

"It is."

"So it was you and your cousin, heading from…"

"Portland," supplied Killian, parroting the story he'd invented earlier. By his estimate, any farther away would have been too far to realistically reach this area in one morning.

"What time did you leave?"

"5:30 or so. I wanted an early start to hopefully dodge the weather. Didn't exactly work out as planned."

"Right. So then you ran aground. What time was this?"

"Probably… 9? Give or take."

"What did you do then?"

Killian knew that shorter answers were best; they gave him the least opportunity to contradict himself or offer too much information. "I tried to radio for help."

"Did you reach anyone?"

"No."

"No one at all? You weren't cut off, or drowned out by static?"

"Nothing. Seemed as if the system weren't working at all."

"How about your cell phone?"

"No signal."

"What did you do then?"

"I decided to inspect the damage."

"Outside of the boat? You got into the water?"

"That's right."

"Clothes on or off?"

"On, all but my coat. I was soaked through by then, anyway."

"Was the motor running?"

"I switched it off. I'm not bloody daft."

"Which side of the boat was damaged?"

"Starboard; we sort of broadsided the reef when I tried to avoid it."

"So you went to check the damage. What was Ms. Seaver doing at this point?"

Killian tried not to grimace. Both Dr. Stevens and Tracy had likely already given statements, so the detective would have Killian's original story in the back of his mind. Best not to deviate, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. "She… thought that it looked fun, what I was doing. Or perhaps she thought she would be able to help. So she stripped off her clothing and jumped in, too."

"Wasn't the water cold?"

"It was bloody freezing. Didn't deter her, at least not at first."

"What happened next?"

"I told her to get back aboard. I thought there was still a chance of at least sailing to shore, if I could get the boat off the reef."

"Did Ms. Seaver obey you?"

"She did, aye. She got back onboard."

"But didn't then get dressed?"

"She put on the closest item of clothing, which happened to be my jacket. I don't know her motives."

"What happened with the propeller?"

Killian prepared his best deceptive performance, imagining what he would have felt like if the incident had occurred the way he was describing. "It was so stupid of me - I was balancing on the reef, trying to push the boat free. I thought a little assistance from the motor would help. I thought I was far enough away, so I asked Marvel to start the engine. Well, a wave came then, knocked me sideways into the blade. I'm lucky not to have lost the leg." He held up his handless wrist for emphasis: he would take whatever sympathy he could get.

Lynch did not seem interested in distant history. "So you were in the water, seriously injured, with the motor still running. What did you do?"

"Managed to communicate to her to shut the engine off. I climbed aboard and used my shirt as a tourniquet while seeking the best method to stop the bleeding."

"Which was?"

"Well, we lacked much in the way of first aid. I figured the quickest method was cautery."

"How?"

Praying that it wasn't too far-fetched to have such a tool in this realm, he stuck with his original story. "Fishing harpoon. Heated on the running engine. Seems to have worked well enough." Killian waved vaguely at the blisters on his thigh.

"Did Ms. Seaver assist with this?"

Killian winced. "Perhaps, a bit. I was having difficulty, near the end, remaining lucid enough to complete the task."

"Do you remember grabbing onto her at any point?"

Bloody hell; _had_ he? Had he hurt her? "Not th… I might have done. But I don't remember specifically, no."

"All right. So once your wound was taken care of, what did you do then?"

"By this time, the boat was quite low in the water. It seemed as if each wave was likely to capsize her. We had no choice but to try to swim for shore."

"Didn't you have any floatation equipment?"

"There wasn't time," Killian said, lamely.

"Life jackets?"

"No. We were distracted by the injury and weren't paying close attention to the imminent danger."

"Okay. You made the decision to swim for it. You in your jeans and shirt, and Ms. Seaver wearing your coat."

"Aye."

"Your boots? Who had those on?"

"I did. I'm a fairly strong swimmer despite my handicap, and I believed that having protection for our feet was worth the extra drag they would cause."

"I see. Well, you made it to shore, obviously. Then what?"

"We rested for a bit. But we were both too chilled to stay there long. I gave up my boots to Marvel, and we followed a stream that eventually led to a road."

"How long did that take?"

"An hour, by my estimate." Killian was more comfortable now that they had reached the part of the story based on truth. They quickly went through the circumstances of meeting Tom and their drive to the hospital. Then Detective Lynch changed tack, his demeanor growing subtly colder.

"We'll definitely be checking out every facet of your story, Mr. Jones. Here's the thing, though, and this is why the staff here were troubled and alerted us to this case. You have a nearly naked woman showing all the classic signs of a trauma, particularly those associated with sexual assault. There's a man with her spinning a wild tale that's, frankly, a little bit hard to believe. He has an injury that, according to the doctors, looks more like a stab wound than the propeller cut he claims it is, plus suspicious scratches that could easily be evidence of a struggle. Their nurse alleges overhearing words of a sexual nature. Do you see why we're concerned?"

Fighting against the lump forming in his throat, Killian nodded. "Aye, mate, and I actually appreciate the lengths you've gone to in order to protect my cousin. But, I swear to you-"

"Let me just ask you outright. Did you sexually assault Ms. Seaver?"

"Hell no."

"Did you have intercourse with her - maybe she seemed as if she wanted it at first, and was enjoying it, and you couldn't stop yourself?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Any kissing, fondling, touching?"

"Never. I abhor the very idea." And he did. Emma Swan was the only woman for him, and even if she weren't… Marvel was too innocent, too pure for any thought of those kinds of relations with her. Despite her actual age, and her long history of taking care of him, it would be more like doing that with a younger sister. It was a vile thought.

"So when we get the forensic evidence back, there won't be any trace of your saliva, semen, or any other bodily fluids on her? Neither of you will have the other's skin cells beneath your fingernails? Nothing?"

"Nothing," he confirmed, although doubt gnawed at the pit of his stomach. What about casual contact? Holding her hand, letting her wear his coat? "Maybe blood from the wound; that's all."

"Okay. I'm just giving you the opportunity to confess now, because it can sometimes go better for you, if you want to plea bargain-"

"I know all of that," snapped the pirate-turned-deputy. "And I'll not be intimidated into confessing something that never happened!"

"Okay," Lynch said in a placating tone. "Just wanted to be sure."

"Let me ask you something," Killian shot back. "What has Marvel had to say about all of this? Is she claiming anything of the sort?"

Lynch considered this, likely deciding what he could and could not say. "Cases like this are tricky. You said it yourself: her mental capacity is not quite 100%."

"She didn't say it, did she."

"Not in so many words, no. But her tale differs drastically from yours. She speaks of portals, pirate ships, a hook. It may just be her way of dissociating from the trauma. When the suspected assault happens to a person who is incapacitated for any reason, it becomes more important for us to decipher the truth, going by the facts and evidence more than the victim's account."

Bless Marvel. She lacked any clue, any compulsion at all to keep her origins a secret. And why should she? She had never encountered these people, the ones without magic. Where any belief in magic at all would likely get you a quick referral to a therapist, at the least. Killian quirked a small, sad smile at her naivete.

"Damn right. You continue on with your job, Detective. Protect those who can't protect themselves. You'll have my full cooperation. Because I _know_ I'm innocent. And I have nothing to fear from the evidence you've gathered." Killian sat back, releasing all of his doubts and worries in one long breath, choosing to have faith that everything would work out in the end. "Now. Do you have any further questions for me?"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Oh Killian."

Awakened first by the door opening and then more fully by the complex emotions in his wife's voice, Killian groggily lifted his hand in her direction… only to be reminded of his dire situation by the clank of handcuffs against the metal railing. He grimaced a sheepish apology.

"Hello, love. You made it, then. How was the drive?"

She stopped just out of reach. The twitching of her fingers betrayed how badly they itched to reach out and comfort him, assure her he was actually there in front of her, promise them both a happy resolution to the predicament. Her expression was a rigid neutral, but he could see the loving softness in her eyes.

"They weren't even going to let me see you. Had to pull some strings." She scoured his body for injury, but the gruesome wound on his leg had been cleaned and covered with a thick bandage once the pain medication had taken effect. "You okay?"

"Aye."

There was no need for him to protest his innocence to her. He knew that she knew. And that's all that mattered. Still, there was so much he wished he could tell her, if only the pesky guard officer would leave them alone. If only he knew for sure they weren't being recorded. If only…

Killian could do nothing but sigh in frustration. To have her so close, and unable to touch… it was pure torture. His fingers tingled to wrap around hers, his lips burned with the need to kiss.

"Not quite the reunion I'd imagined," he admitted with a sad smile. Emma's answer was equally rueful.

"It'll be okay, Killian. We'll fix this mess."

He nodded in a display of confidence beyond what he actually felt. "Do you know what's become of… er… my cousin?"

Killian tried to use his eyes to convey the importance of having her play along. Emma's brow creased in the slightest of confused frowns. Mystified, she mouthed, _Cousin?_ before shaking her head.

"No. Sorry."

Quietly, Killian voiced his concerns. "They haven't told me they've done with her, and you know how she gets." He raised a prompting eyebrow, and Emma nodded.

"Oh. Right. I'll… see what I can find out. Can't promise they'll let me back in with news, though."

"That's okay, Swan. I'll feel better knowing she's got an ally in you."

He had really hoped to break the news to her gently. Under different circumstances…. _Any_ other circumstances, really. But Marvel didn't deserve continued distress, and she would recognize Emma. At least then she wouldn't feel completely abandoned.

"Time's up, sheriff," intoned the guard, and Emma's expression flattened; Killian could immediately recognize her usual reaction to strong emotion whenever she thought she wasn't in a good place to express it. He bit his lip, feeling horrible that he was the source of that angst, no matter how innocent he actually was.

"I'm so sorry, love."

She tried to smile, but the result was a sad shadow of her normal sunshine. "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong." She blew him a kiss. "Love you, Killian. See you soon."

"I love you, Emma."

He couldn't even return the gesture. And the ache in his heart was killing him.

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Because of his injury and the necessity of IV therapy, Killian was not sent to jail to await arraignment; instead, they admitted him to the hospital for the night. Late afternoon found him in a private room with a guard posted by the door and a cuff around his ankle, securing him to the bed rail. He wasn't sure if the latter was a concession to his disability, or a sign that they considered him not to be a danger to the nurses that were in and out checking on him. Either way, Killian was grateful to have his hand free.

He wasn't allowed any visitors apart from his lawyer, a disturbingly young man who hadn't yet mastered the poker face needed to conceal his obvious belief in Killian's guilt. Killian confirmed his intention to plead 'not guilty' and did not avail himself of the opportunity to ask any questions. Alone again, he spent the rest of the afternoon worrying at the TV, nodding off from drug-induced drowsiness, and fighting the need to visit the restroom every 15 minutes - a process which required nurse assistance and direct guard supervision and was much more trouble than it was worth. But the saline being pumped into him had to go _somewhere._

What would they have done with Marvel? Fed and clothed her, presumably. But then what? Was it at all reasonable to hope that she'd been discharged into Emma's care? Knowing that she was his wife and thus put Marvel at risk of unwilling contact with him after his release? Killian prayed that, wherever she was, she wasn't too confused or afraid, or feeling like he had deserted her.

He _missed_ her. Emma, too, of course - gods, what he wouldn't give to have his wife snuggled next to him right now - but that was expected. He and Marvel, though, had just met. They had spent less than 24 hours together, by his reckoning. Very eventful hours, to be sure, but… somehow she had become so precious to him in that time, and he missed having her by his side. He couldn't wait to see her again.

Killian spent the night in an odd mixture of stressed wakefulness and deep, drugged sleep, until dawn roused him squarely into a state of hungover listlessness. He was more nervous than he thought he would be over the day's court proceedings. They would not be determining his fate... at least, not beyond the amount of money required to release him on bail. It must be old habits. No pirate could be thrilled by the prospect of appearing before a magistrate, under any circumstances.

Morning rounds brought a physician to check his progress. And Killian was doubly grateful for the narcotics during the exam and bandage change. Apparently satisfied by whatever could be gleaned from the appalling sight, the doctor gave orders for a switch to oral medications and discharge home - or, in this case, to the courthouse and _then_ home. Hopefully.

A nurse removed his IV and helped him into a correctional facility jumpsuit, which had to be a size larger than preferable in order to accommodate the bandage on his leg. And then it was simply a matter of awaiting the court's pleasure. Thankfully, the Friday docket was light, and Killian found himself being wheeled to a transport vehicle before 10 am.

The trip was short and quickly forgotten in Killian's preoccupation with their approaching destination. The attorney had explained what was to happen, and Killian had had a vague notion anyway, although their "courthouse" in Storybrooke could in no way be considered reflective of the rest of the country. Beyond the occasional villain cropping up every so often, crime tended to be minor, and Judge Hart of Wonderland only rarely suggested beheading as an appropriate punishment.

As he was wheeled through the door and into the courtroom, Killian's gaze immediately found Emma in the audience, before he took in anything else. Her mere presence worked wonders, bolstering his confidence and soothing his anxiety. He flashed her a wry smile, which she returned instantly, projecting calm reassurance, weariness, and a bit of annoyance at the situation. But knowing she was there - that she had his back, no matter the outcome - made all the difference.

The proceedings were over before he knew it, and apparently, Emma's presence also influenced the judge, who released Killian on his own recognizance without even requiring bail. A surprised but grateful Killian was then returned to the patrol car and the court moved on.

All that remained then was a quick return to the hospital to fill out discharge papers and collect his prescriptions. He would be required back in Newburyport at some later date for meetings with the lawyer and a trial, if it proceeded that far. But for now, he was free. And all he wanted was to throw himself into Emma's embrace… and then reunite with his ship incarnate, wherever she may be.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Can you make it?"

Acting as human crutch, Emma shifted her grip on Killian's torso as he hopped stoically along beside her. The hospital parking lot was within view now, but her Bug was near the back.

"As long as we… keep our momentum," grunted Killian. But Emma ground to a halt, helping him to retain his balance as she slid out from underneath.

"Lemme bring the car to you," she explained. "Wait here."

Killian nodded, secretly grateful for the suggestion. Despite the analgesics still in his system, his wound throbbed with every movement, and it wasn't helping to have to hold his foot up off the ground. He leaned on the more conventional crutch beside him and allowed his toes to rest gingerly against the concrete, relaxing the injured muscles with a sigh of relief.

In minutes, Emma had pulled the yellow car up to the curb and got out to assist him inside. Which was not a graceful or comfortable process, but once he was off of his feet, Killian could finally breathe again. Emma tossed the crutch into the backseat while her husband struggled with his seatbelt; when everything was situated, she closed his door for him and went around to the driver's side. She drove through the turnaround just as quickly as she could safely do so, peeled out onto the main road, went one block in silence, then zoomed into a grocery store parking lot. Rolling into the first spot she could find, she had barely switched the car off before she was climbing over the center console, hands all over her amused husband's face and shoulders.

"Swan," Killian mumbled between frantic kisses. "Perhaps we should-"

"Shhhh," she commanded, lips decorating the side of his face. "Making up for lost time…"

Emma lunged forward, careful of his leg, and he wondered at her athleticism in the cramped space. He twisted in his seat, leaning into her embrace, and soon their cares were forgotten as they poured out their feelings in intimacy.

Well, as intimate as they could safely get in a public lot in broad daylight.

When they had come up for air, and were taking turns leaving purple marks on the other's skin, Emma panted,

"My magic… isn't all that… reliable down here, but maybe…"

Her hand slid down his abdomen, heading for his thigh. Killian groaned but intercepted her, wishing he didn't have to.

"Wait, love… Maybe that's not such a good idea."

She looked up at him, a mixture of love, confusion, and impatience on her face. "What do you mean?"

Killian kissed her forehead, brought her hand up to his chest, and leaned down to kiss her knuckles, too. "I'll likely be coming back here soon."

Emma scowled at the reminder, still annoyed by the idea that anyone would find her husband capable of such a deplorable act. "No, once they get the forensic evidence back, they won't have a case, and they'll drop it."

"You're probably right," Killian said carefully. "But when has anything been that easy for us?"

He had a point, and she rolled her eyes in irritation. "Would be nice to have at least _one_ thing go our way, for once."

"Aye," he agreed, wholeheartedly. "But perhaps we shouldn't count on it."

"And your leg is related to this discussion… how?"

Killian sighed reluctantly. "What if I'm summoned back in a week? For more questioning, or to meet with an attorney, or whatnot. It would only add to the confusion if I'm suddenly lacking a wound for which they have ample proof."

"So you pretend." She tried wiggling her fingers free, but he blocked her attempt with his lips, kissing each digit until she surrendered. "Killian…"

"And when they ask to see it?"

"They won't." Emma shifted her weight, the uncomfortable position starting to wear on her. "I'm sure they have plenty of pictures; what good would it do them to see a half-healed injury?"

"I don't know. I can imagine a scenario where, once the blisters have receded, someone may wish to add credence to their stabbing theory. Which, I might point out, is closer to the truth than the ridiculous story I had to concoct."

Sighing, Emma settled back into her seat, though she still had both hands on him. "That's highly unlikely. Especially if they're expecting that you'll have surgery… that would change the course of the wound's healing, like, a lot."

Killian leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he groaned. "Bloody hell, Swan; do you think they'll expect testimony from a surgeon as to whether he suspects it to be a stab wound? I was hoping to avoid further meddling."

Emma thought for a moment. "Huh. Guess it's possible. Probably just as unlikely as them asking to see your leg again, though. We could always fake it. And by the way, you still need to tell me what really happened."

"I do indeed, and I promise that I will. But right now, I would very much like to assure myself of Marvel's safety."

Emma nodded, pulling out her phone and then rummaging through her wallet to find a business card that had been given to her. "They wouldn't let me near her without proof of guardianship… and I couldn't come up with _that_ without knowing what you had told them about her."

She typed the address into her GPS and started the engine. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she casually asked,

"So… who is she?"

Killian suddenly felt anxious, though he wouldn't be able to explain why. He knew he had Emma's trust; she wouldn't jump to any conclusions about what had gone on in her absence. It had more to do with how they would interact, his love and his… however Marvel related to him. Guardian angel?

"Let me just preface this by reminding you that it's my leg that's injured, not my head. All right?"

Emma gave him a look. "Lemme guess. A real cousin? From three hundred years ago? Long-lost sister?" Lifting an eyebrow, she added, "Daughter?"

"No, nothing like that." Thankfully. That may have been even more awkward of a situation than the one they currently found themselves in. "Marvel… she's the Jolly Roger. Or the soul of her, come to life."

Emma blinked; it was obvious she was not expecting anything like that. "Holy crap, Killian. Really? Like, for _sure_ , for sure?"

"Undeniably so. Turns out she was the cause of the portal travel, in reaction to being granted human form."

"Wow. That's… insane. Kind of awesome, but crazy." She glanced over at Killian, all kinds of surprised. "No wonder you're worried about her."

"You believe me?"

She shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? You're the best one to judge if it really is her."

Killian fidgeted with his seatbelt. "Perhaps. Although even I have moments of doubt in that regard. It's all quite… astounding."

"I'll bet. I mean… if this car could talk…" She grimaced, shuddering. "Let's just say I'd have to keep it far away from anyone who knew me."

Killian gave her a halfhearted smile, although the comparison was weak. Ten years of ownership, compared to hundreds… using it almost solely as a form of transportation - apart from a few exceptions - as opposed to a home. Less of the loving, the raging, the bleeding and the slaughter. "Actually, love, I'm rather looking forward to introducing you. All that I am, all that I was… it belongs to you. And to a large extent, she is an embodiment of that past."

Gracing him with a fond, grateful smile, Emma couldn't help quipping,

"Can't wait. She must have even more embarrassing stories about you than Smee does!"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Together, Emma and Killian decided to park a block away from the group home hosting Marvel, for while there wasn't an official no-contact order against Killian, they figured it would be easier for Emma to make her case for guardianship without any potential hesitation that the pirate's presence may cause. Emma would claim to be a relative from another branch of the family tree, carrying magically-forged documents with convincing details provided by Killian. But just as they approached a likely parking spot, Killian spotted a familiar spray of auburn rounding the corner.

"There, Swan; pull over." He gestured urgently and Emma calmly steered her car to the curb, having also spotted the two figures walking down the sidewalk toward them. Killian rolled down his window as they came to a halt. "Ahoy there! If it isn't my jolly Marvel, out for a stroll. Favorable winds today?"

With a joyful squeal, Marvel hurled herself at the car, nearly climbing through the window in her eagerness to be reunited. "Captain! My captain is here! You found me, my love!"

Killian chuckled at her grasping hands, tolerating their pathways along his face, neck, and scalp as she assured herself of his existence. "Of course I did. Did you truly doubt me?"

Emma had shut off the engine and was now climbing from the car. She nodded to Marvel's companion, who was standing a cautious but respectful distance behind. Killian fumbled his seatbelt off to the sounds of Marvel's denial.

"Never! I would never doubt you, my dear. Only, I feared for you. I wasn't allowed to seek you out, and I thought something dreadful must have happened!"

"No, merely a temporary inconvenience." Killian reached for the door handle, adding, "Now, if you would allow a bit of space so I can get the door open, perhaps then you could have the pleasure of assisting your old captain to his feet, such as they are. What do you say?"

Marvel jumped to comply, completely oblivious to the nameless woman she almost crashed into in her haste. Emma, having skirted the Bug, stood nearby, but seemed content to allow the human ship the task of getting Killian out of his seat.

"Heave ho," he smirked after painfully getting into position. Marvel bypassed the door and wrapped her hands around his, then pulled. Once assured of his delicate balance upright, Marvel wasted no time wrapping him in an enthusiastic embrace.

After a moment, Killian gently pushed her aside, pivoting to include Emma in their interaction. He took her hand in his.

"Emma, love. I'd like you to meet Marvel."

A fascinated, almost awestruck smile on her face, Emma moved closer and held out her free hand.

"Nice you meet you, Marvel. I'm Emma."

Marvel giggled. "You're his little Swan. You appear to have grown since you last came aboard."

Slightly bemused, Emma laughed anyway. "Oh yeah?"

Suddenly realizing she was supposed to do something with the hand being offered, Marvel disentangled herself from Killian's torso and cupped Emma's fingers in her own.

"Are you sure it isn't you who's done the shrinking?" Killian teased lightly, mindful of the stranger still watching them.

Marvel continued to clutch Emma's hand as she exclaimed,

"Ah! You're quite right, love; how could I have forgotten?" She bent to kiss Emma's hand, then straightened with a confused expression. "No, I've gotten it wrong, haven't I?"

"It's fine," Emma assured her patiently, extricating her limb and placing it lovingly on her husband's chest. Killian smiled softly down at her before turning his attention back to his ship.

"Won't you introduce us to your friend?" He tilted his head in the direction of Marvel's escort. Marvel shrugged.

"Oh, that's just Ann. She's not real."

"Not real?" repeated Killian, amused.

"Oh no. She doesn't believe in magic. She wants to convince me that this is the only realm." She lowered her voice to a serious whisper. "I don't think she's even been sailing before."

"That's a terrible shame," Killian agreed, just as quietly. "She doesn't know what she's missing." He gave her a wink and then looked past to the observer. "Ann, is it?"

Nodding, the older woman stepped closer, winding her way past Marvel until the four of them made a ring. "Hi. Yes, Ann Denny. Miss Marvel and I were just on a walk, weren't we, sweetie?"

"I'm finished walking now," announced Marvel firmly as she linked elbows with Killian. The pirate flashed a polite smile to Ann.

"Apologies for the interruption." Not knowing exactly what this woman had been told, Killian decided to play it safe. "Liam. My wife, Emma. We were informed of our cousin's plight, and came to rescue her."

Marvel questioned him with her gaze, but had the wisdom to remain silent and let her captain take the lead. Ann looked from one to the other before fixing a clinical smile on her face.

"I'm glad to hear that. She does seem happy to see you. But, of course, there are proper procedures for doing this, for the protection of the residents."

"Naturally," Killian agreed calmly. Emma pulled the rolled-up papers from where they were tucked into her back pocket.

"We brought some paperwork," she assured Ann. "Guardianship and stuff."

"Very good. That should speed things up. Come with me. We'll have to try and catch the director before she leaves for lunch."

Putting on his best air of guilelessness, Killian leaned back against the car. "As much as I'd love to accompany you, afraid I'd only be a hindrance." He gestured at his leg with a disarming smile. "I think I'll remain here, if it's all the same to you."

Ann studied Emma. "As long as your name is on the guardianship documents, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Yup." Emma made as if to unroll the pages. Ann waved her off.

"Come on, then."

Emma stepped to Ann's side, but Marvel lifted her chin stubbornly.

"I will tarry here with my captain."

"Now, Miss Marvel, you can come back in a little while," replied Ann sternly. "We need to make sure everything is set for you to go home. Besides, don't you want to say goodbye to your new friends in the purple house?"

"I haven't any friends," retorted Marvel, half petulant and half wistful. "No one wants to befriend a ship."

"Go with Emma, love," Killian urged. "She'll watch out for you, and then you can both come back here, where I'll be waiting. All right?"

Reluctantly, Marvel tugged her arm out of his. "Yes, Captain."

Killian gave her an encouraging nod, and she quietly turned to follow Ann and Emma up the street. After they had rounded the corner, Killian winced his way back into his seat, hoping against hope that everything would go smoothly and they could soon be on their way home.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **AN: To my fellow whumpers: the next few chapters contain a mixture of fluff and angst, but I promise there is plentiful whump to come! Hopefully the residual pain and annoyance of Killian's not-magically-healed wound will help tide you over until then :)**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Due to the lengthy process of springing Marvel from her accommodations, several rest stops to allow the increasingly antsy woman a chance to stretch her legs, and a meal break, their road trip home extended over the majority of the day. By the time the yellow Bug reached the town line, the sun had long since set. Silence reigned in the car, with the stereo on the fritz and the two occupants not engaged in driving both passed out in the back seat. Emma smiled fondly at the sight of her snoozing husband: the man had borne Marvel's excessive clinginess throughout the trip with admirable patience. Thankfully, the human ship had finally relaxed enough to fall asleep, though she still clung to Killian's hand and was currently using him as a leather-clad pillow. The image inspired no real jealousy in her apart from a slight yearning to be the one cuddled up and dozing while someone else did the driving. But they were almost there.

Killian, possibly alerted by the slowing of their pace, stirred and opened his eyes, managing to avoid waking Marvel as he caught Emma's gaze in the rearview mirror. He gave her a sleepy grin, for which she had a radiant answer.

The pirate was immensely relieved to see the familiar Storybrooke streets passing by. He hadn't even been gone that long, but he'd been missing terribly his life with Emma. His forever home.

When they finally pulled up in front of the blue and white house, which was dark except for the porch light, Killian gave Marvel a gentle nudge awake.

"We're home, love. Safe and sound."

Marvel unfurled and rubbed the confusion away. Leaning over her seatmate to peer through the window, she asked,

"This is where you live?"

Killian reached across his body to pull the car door open; Emma was busy collecting her scattered things from the front seat. "It is. What do you think?"

He braved the pain of clambering to his feet, already so fed up with the hindrance. As he leaned against the car and caught his breath, Marvel crawled outside as well, her eyes fixed on the house. She cocked her head and folded her arms.

"It doesn't even move."

"No, you're right. It's quite firmly fixed in place."

"Can I see the inside?"

"Of course you can. Did you think we were going to leave you out here all night?"

"That's what normally happens." There was no bitterness in her tone; she merely stated fact. But Killian cringed anyway. Conjuring a bright smile at odds with his irrational guilt, Killian pointed out,

"I think you'll find it an easier fit now. Come on."

He pushed himself off of the vehicle and took a limping step toward the house; Emma closed the car door and hurried to his side.

"How 'bout a lift?" she offered, and Killian nodded gratefully.

"Hold on to Emma, Marvel; she's going to take us inside."

In a flash, they were all standing in the entryway, and as Marvel giggled gleefully, Emma magically flicked on some lights.

"That was nearly as exciting as portal travel," grinned Marvel. "Only… rather short."

"You _like_ going through portals?" Emma repeated, incredulous, making her way to the kitchen and throwing her wallet and keys on the counter.

"I love portals! They're even more exhilarating than being tossed about by a storm."

Even Killian looked at her in disbelief then. "Well, I suppose that both of those could be considered thrilling. When one isn't fearing for one's mortality or being flung roughly to the ground on the other side."

By this time, Marvel was stalking the periphery of the room, taking in everything, all of the little touches that made up their home and their life together. She stroked the wardrobe, ran her fingers along the wall, stopped to examine a family portrait hanging at eye level. Gazed through the telescope in the corner, squealing when she glimpsed the moonlit waves. Killian glanced at Emma, who waved her hand and produced his crutch from the car. It appeared just in front of him, held upright by telekinesis. The pirate made a face but snatched the damned thing and tucked it under his arm. Then he hobbled over to join his ship incarnate.

Marvel had recognized his sea chest in its spot near the window and was patting it idly, as if it were an old friend. As Killian neared, she greeted him with a smile, but it seemed slightly subdued.

"You okay?" He came to a stop a short distance away, not wishing to crowd her. Marvel turned to face the rest of the living room: fireplace, giant comfy couch, little outdated TV tucked in a corner.

"It isn't what I expected," she admitted quietly.

"Isn't it?"

She shook her head, eyes flicking from Killian's face to Emma in the kitchen and back. "It's… quite a lot of space for the two of you."

"Suppose it is. Though we do share it with Henry half the time."

Her expression warmed a bit at the mention. "Ah, Master Henry. Of course. He isn't here at present?"

"He's at Regina's this week," supplied Emma. "But he's dying to meet you. We thought tomorrow would be best."

Marvel only nodded, and Killian recognized the spaced-out, overwhelmed quality of her gaze.

"It's been a long day," he said. "There's no reason you have to take it all in right away. How about we finish the house tour in the morning?"

"Aye. All right."

"Need a snack before bed?" Emma offered. She opened their pantry, revealing some choices. "Cereal would be quick. Killian likes this Raisin Crap, or there's plenty of sweeter, more delicious options. Or I could microwave some popcorn…"

"No thank you, Lady Swan."

Taken aback by the title, Emma stopped rummaging and turned. "Uh, Emma. Is fine."

"Very well, Lady Emma."

"Yeeeaaahhhhh… anyway… if you change your mind in the middle of the night, feel free to help yourself to anything. Just… maybe stay away from stuff that needs cooking. At least for now."

Marvel nodded but didn't seem to fully comprehend the instruction. Killian held out his arm in invitation.

"Allow me to show you to your room?"

Grasping the leather with one hand, Marvel asked,

"I have a room? All to myself?"

"Aye, love. The highest quality guest room, for our most esteemed guest. Afraid it's up the stairs, though; perhaps Lady Emma would be so kind…" He raised a cheeky eyebrow at his wife, who rolled her eyes in mock irritation.

"Whatever Lord Killian commands."

She performed that twist of her wrist, they were momentarily engulfed by smoke, and then found themselves in the spare bedroom upstairs. The room lacked character, but it was furnished and supplied with clean linens. Not that they got many overnight guests; however, it seemed to be a custom in this realm to be prepared for such an eventuality. And in this case, the effort would not be wasted.

Marvel spun in a slow circle as she took in the room's dimensions, her eyes widening. "Dearest, this is nearly as big as your cabin. Are you certain it's all for my personal use?"

Killian shrugged. Her estimate was on the generous side; he would say the captain's quarters were at least one third again as big. "I suppose I've come to take the space for granted. It doesn't come at nearly the premium on land as it does at sea."

She headed for the bed and sat gingerly, as if afraid to break it. "In the purple house, I was required to share a room with a very strange lady. But there were two separate beds, at least."

"Well, no need for that here. You can snore as loudly as you like with no fear of disturbing a roommate." He winked at her and she cocked her head.

"Snore? You mean that awful buzzing noise that the majority of the crew made while sleeping? Especially when drunk?"

"Aye, exactly that."

She looked thoughtful. "How is one to know whether one snores or not? If it's impossible to keep awareness while asleep…"

"Usually someone will tell you. The question is whether they're being honest or merely teasing."

Marvel blinked at him, way too concerned over such a small thing. He waved his hand in dismissal.

"Forget it, love; that's neither here nor there. Now. We'll purchase you some clothes of your own tomorrow, but for tonight, you'll have to make do with what we've got on hand. Old shorts and a t-shirt acceptable as sleepwear?"

She nodded, now trying to wrap her head around the idea of owning her own sets of clothing. Adjusting his grip on the crutch, Killian carefully spun to face the doorway, suggesting,

"Follow me, then. I'll show you where to find me should you need something overnight."

Marvel got up and shuffled after him. He led her to the master bedroom and over to the dresser he shared with Emma. Knowing it was hopeless to try and dig through her disorganized drawers - where each article of clothing was haphazardly stuffed wherever there was room, regardless of his efforts to help sort things - Killian switched the crutch to the other arm for balance as he pulled open the second drawer on his side. He lifted neatly folded stacks of shirts until he found the one he had in mind: a black crew-neck given as a joke by David. It featured that ridiculous cartoon crocodile from Disney's animated Pan, leaning its head on a clawed forefoot and looking miffed. Awaiting, no doubt, its chance to gobble down that sorry-excuse-for-a-Hook counterpart once his ill-conceived actions got the better of him. Killian had never found the motivation to wear it and likely never would, even as a concession to David's sense of humor.

He shook the garment open and held it out for Marvel, just barely managing to suppress an eye roll at the revealed image adorning it. But Marvel appeared ecstatic at the offering, and of course, she had no inkling of its meaning. Killian spied his singular pair of black athletic shorts - again, not his style and never once worn, only kept for that elusive 'just in case' moment. He passed these to Marvel as well, and she practically hugged both garments, holding them close. When he straightened, she took it as permission to let her gaze wander. She studied their room.

"This is where you sleep?"

"It is indeed." Among other things… but she didn't need to know that.

"Somewhat different to your quarters," she remarked, her face unreadable. "Less… ornate."

"Perhaps. No better or worse; merely different."

She looked as if she didn't quite buy the assurance. But then she succumbed to a huge yawn and grinned sheepishly.

"Apologies, Captain; this is hardly a bore, I just… I'm tired, I think."

"It's okay, Marvel. As I said: we'll continue the tour tomorrow. Come on. I believe there's an extra toothbrush in the guest bathroom down the hall."

Killian's hunch was correct, and as he struggled to open the packaging without the assistance of his hook, Marvel inched closer to the vanity. He realized that she was staring at her reflection, tilting her head this way and that, running her fingers along her cheeks, eyebrows, and hair. Killian stopped to watch. After a moment, he broke into her reverie.

"All right there, love?"

"It's still so strange, having a new reflection. I haven't yet mastered the skill of recognizing myself in this form."

Killian watched her in the mirror, wearing a patient, reassuring smile. "I imagine it would take a bit of getting used to."

"Am I pretty?"

"Oh, indisputably."

"Better now than as a ship?"

"I…" He stumbled over the words, not quite prepared for such a question. "I wouldn't say 'better.' You're beautiful in either form. Though there is something to be said for… for two-way interaction." He paused. "Do… _you_ have a preference?"

"Can I have an earring?" she asked suddenly, and Killian was thrown by the sudden change in subject.

"You… want an earring?"

She fingered her earlobe as she eyed the simple black stud in his. "Aye. I dare say I've crossed the equator _and_ circumnavigated the globe, more than once. Possibly more times even than you."

Killian laughed softly. "That you have. If anyone has earned one, it would be you."

"Then I can have one?"

"Of course you can, darling. You can have whatever you desire. In fact…" He trailed off, momentarily lost in thought. "Wait here. If you like… erm, did they teach you about brushing your teeth in the group home?"

"They did!" she grinned. "I never quite understood all of the maintenance required for human bodies, but I do now."

"That's good. If you'd like to change into your new clothes and brush your teeth, I'll be back shortly."

"Yes, Captain."

Killian looked down at the package in his hand and finally decided to do away with caution. He gripped the end with his teeth and tore the stubborn plastic open, flashing an obstructed grin at his ship as he peeled it back and wrestled the red and white toothbrush out. After presenting the implement to Marvel, who accepted with a giggle, Killian tossed the packaging into the wastebasket and produced a travel-sized toothpaste from the top drawer.

"There you are. Got to keep those perfect teeth shiny." His wink covered a tiny wince as he hopped toward the hallway. The bloody crutch was already beyond tiresome.

Ten minutes later, Killian paused outside the closed bathroom door, adjusted his balance, then knocked quietly. "How goes it, love? Not bested by the cartoon croc, I hope."

Marvel pulled the door open, shyly showing off her sleeping attire. Killian huffed ruefully.

"Looks far better on you than it ever would on me."

"And the… image. It goes in front, like this?"

He noted that she had neatly folded her outfit from earlier, and he grinned fondly. "Aye, love. You've done it properly."

Killian dug into his pocket then, hobbling into the light to give her a better view of what he held. "You… may recall this, actually."

He opened his fist to reveal a sparkling jewel earring, the flashy, dangly kind he had once favored. The sapphire caught the light and fairly glowed in his palm; Marvel reached up to touch it reverently.

"Milah gave this to me, to mark some occasion. May have been a certain number of years together. In any case, it's a bit extravagant for me now, but it's still beautiful. And I'm quite certain she would want you to have it."

Marvel's eyes shone as she beheld the gift. "Oh, my love… I … I couldn't…"

"She loved you too, you know," Killian pointed out gently. "That freedom she so craved… you provided that. For both of us. I want you to have it; she would too. Besides…" He took the earring and held it up to her ear, nudging her to turn and face the mirror. "Look how it matches your eyes."

Marvel broke into a dazzled grin. Without warning, she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over as she murmured her thanks.

"It's beautiful, Captain. I love it."

Killian set the earring on the vanity before he could drop it, then gingerly returned her embrace. "I only have the one, of course, but that shouldn't stop you if you'd like both sides done…"

Just as abruptly, Marvel wriggled free and held the jewel up herself. "No, one ear, like you. Shall we do it now? Can I sleep wearing my new earring?"

Chuckling at her enthusiasm, Killian shook his head. "No, love - they've a fancy gadget round here that makes the process much cleaner and easier, or so I'm told. We may as well put it to use. In the morning, we'll locate such a service."

"First thing?"

"If you like."

"Will I yell?"

Killian tilted his head, pretending to survey her mettle. Then he scoffed, confident. "Not my Marvel. She's much too courageous for yelling."

Marvel giggled, but a hint of insecurity showed in her eyes. "But… perhaps I could hold onto your hand. For extra courage."

"Of course. Any time."

She took one more look at her decorated reflection, then set the earring carefully in the corner of the vanity. "Then I suppose I should get into bed. The sooner I sleep, the sooner morning will come."

Killian maneuvered out of her way. "Glad you've worked out that little secret." He followed her awkwardly back to her room, where she headed straight for the bed and threw back the covers. "You know, like Emma said, just… make yourself at home here. If you wake early and we're still abed, you're welcome to any food you can find. Or… books, or anything to keep yourself entertained."

She nodded as she settled back against her pillows. "Thank you, Captain."

"Good night, darling."

"Good night."

He reached to switch off the light for her, then paused, his finger finding its way to that familiar patch behind his ear. "I… I'm glad you're here with us, Marvel."

"So am I, Dear One."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

When Emma wandered upstairs shortly thereafter, it was to find Killian already attired for bed, sprawled atop the covers while staring thoughtfully at nothing. He greeted her with a warm smile, but the heaviness didn't lift from his eyes. Emma flung herself onto the bed beside him with a long sigh; he reached for her and drew her close. She was only too happy to indulge in a little bit of snuggling after several days apart.

"What is it about long car rides that makes people so tired?" she complained. "I'm ready for bed and it's barely 9."

"I should think you would be in a better position to answer that," murmured Killian, savoring the feel of her head on his chest, her body pressed against his.

"It's not like we did anything strenuous."

"You had the hardest job by far, love, and I thank you for coming to my rescue."

Emma glanced down at the added bulkiness of his pajama pants. "How's the leg?"

"It's fine."

Closing her eyes in concentration, Emma managed to magically produce his pain pills and antibiotic from the car. As she opened the bottles and shook the prescribed doses into his hand, Killian took a slow breath.

"We haven't… exactly had much time to discuss all of this," he began, and Emma tossed the pill bottles in the general direction of her nightstand. Killian dumped the medicine into his mouth, made a face, and reached stiffly across his body for the glass of water that sat beside the bed.

"Your ship come to life? That 'this'?"

"Aye." He downed the water and pills, returned the glass, then slithered his arm back around Emma's shoulders.

"What is there to discuss?"

"Well… how you feel about it, for a start."

"It's cool. I mean, crazy, obviously, but not much more than usual. She… Marvel is… she's different, but I like her."

"And it doesn't… bother you, having her here? Allowing her to stay with us, at least for the near future?"

She tilted her face to look up at him. "Are you asking if I'm jealous of her?"

Killian blinked down at his wife, taking a moment to read her expression. "I… suppose I am, yeah. I know how it could appear, and with the mad insinuations they were making down there-"

"Killian. I'm not jealous; I promise."

"Good. You've no cause to be; nothing happened, nor ever _would_ -"

"I know. I trust you."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Gods, I love you." After a pause, he took another breath and continued, "It's just… quite a big commitment all at once, taking an additional adult into the household, and it's not as if we could have actually planned for it… I just want to be sure you're truly all right with it."

The fact that Emma didn't give a hasty or flippant reply meant that she was seriously considering his concern, and Killian appreciated that.

"I mean… yeah, it's not exactly what I had envisioned for our home, and there would be details we'd have to discuss and everything. But, Killian, she's such a major part of you that I feel like I - _we_ \- owe her. I want you to be happy, and so I want her to be happy."

Killian released a careful breath, relieved that she seemed to share some of the debt of gratitude that he felt. "Thank you, Emma. Your adaptability is astounding. And, you know, it wouldn't necessarily be a permanent arrangement. Perhaps when she becomes more accustomed to this realm and… well, to being human… maybe she could have a place of her own. Nearby, of course."

"Don't kid yourself; you'll be over there every day, making sure she's okay." Emma's teasing tone didn't obscure the love with which she called her husband out on his protective side. He said nothing to dispel her of the idea, either; he merely rested his cheek on her head in a grateful embrace. Running her fingers through his perfect chest hair, careful of the fading scratches beneath, Emma turned his questioning back on him. "How are _you_ feeling about it?"

"Still getting accustomed to the notion," he admitted. "And… I do love her, Swan, but not in a romantic way. It's like… if one could have both an older and younger sibling all wrapped up in one individual, that's what Marvel would be to me."

"Well, I'm definitely not averse to the idea of having a sister-in-law!" Emma sobered a bit, her voice lowering. "Is the transformation permanent? Do you think?"

"I don't know for certain, but by all accounts, that's what Marvel was led to believe."

In response, Emma surprised him by pushing herself up onto an elbow, turning to face him, looking him straight in the eye. "Killian, she's family. And whether or not she's eventually able to get a job and live on her own… she's always welcome here. Okay? No doubts, no fears that I'll somehow resent her. She has a place with us, always."

Killian grinned and pulled her down for a blazing kiss of devotion. Wondering, as always, at his fortune to somehow be blessed with this amazing woman as a partner.

It didn't really need saying, but Killian said it anyway: words of thanks, murmured in the centimeters separating their lips as they came up for air. And their next kiss began decidedly smile-shaped.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"Bloody hell," sighed Killian as they rounded the corner onto their street, which was lined on both sides with cars. "Looks like the entire town's turned up, as usual."

"I told Henry he could have a _few_ people over," Emma replied, checking to make sure of her usual parking spot before continuing forward. Thankfully, it had been left open for her. "Guess I should have specified my definition of 'few.'"

Killian glanced at Marvel in the backseat. "It appears you're being treated to an impromptu Storybrooke welcome. What d'you think, love; do you feel up to meeting several dozen strangers all at once?"

"Probably a couple familiar faces, too," added Emma. Marvel shrugged.

"It doesn't bother me. I can show them my new earring."

"Aye, so you can. You've the countenance of a proper seadog and no mistake."

Marvel grinned, the blue stone sparkling with each movement of her head. The beautician had been unsuccessful in attempts to talk her into starting with a plain stud at first, despite warnings of slower healing and the possibility of infection. The human ship would accept no substitute for the one gifted to her.

Emma parked the car and turned the engine off. "Hope they brought food. I dunno how good of a party it'll be with only the contents of our freezer."

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As it turned out, there was plenty of food available. And it wasn't quite the _entire_ town; just the usual ridiculous assembly of regulars with the surprising but logical additions of Mister Smee and Gentleman Starkey, who were equally as excited to meet the soul of their ship as everyone else was. Probably more so, considering their long history with her.

After initial introductions, made in almost receiving line style, the revelers broke up into smaller groups, conversing and enjoying the refreshments. At first, Marvel stuck quite close to Killian as he maneuvered his awkward, crutch-dependent way around the living room. Despite her earlier words, she appeared slightly overwhelmed by all of the attention. But Killian's presence and easy banter with his friends soon had her coming out of her shell.

"Bloody 'ell, Cap'n," said Starkey by way of greeting. He clapped a rough hand on Killian's shoulder, nearly disrupting his carefully arranged balance on crutch and good leg. "Gone and 'urt yoreself again, 'ave you? Ah well; s'pose the lady's just as accustomed to it as we are."

He treated Marvel to a jaunty wink; she blushed and drew closer to her jokingly annoyed captain. But then she retorted,

"Aye, though if I recall correctly, some of the blame for that is shared by you, is it not?"

Killian smirked triumphantly at his startled bosun. "That's my girl."

Over Starkey's good-natured grumbling, Smee asked,

"What _did_ you do to your leg, sir? Looks a little inconvenient."

Killian slipped a finger behind his ear. "Nothing serious, mate; slight portal mishap is all."

Helpfully, Marvel chimed in,

"The captain fell on his hook. Drove it in deep, lads." She glanced up at Killian's chagrined expression and brushed a tender hand along his arm in silent apology.

"Again?" teased Smee, overjoyed to find himself not on the receiving end of the taunts this time. "Gods, Captain; how many times is that, now?"

"Gotta be at least an 'alf dozen, by my reckoning," said Starkey as Killian groaned. Smee thumbed his lower lip in thought.

"Then there's all the times you don't know about, Starks…"

"Oh, here we go," grumped their tolerant captain. "Knew this was a bad idea, the three of you together."

Marvel stepped closer to Smee with a conspiratorial smile. "Do you remember Port Devaler? Captain comes stumbling up the gangplank, three sheets, you have to help him below…"

Killian buried his face in his hand just as David and Emma sauntered over, each clutching a beer.

"Everybody calm down over here; help has arrived." David took in Killian's exaggerated consternation and studied each of the instigators in turn. "What, did I miss something?"

Dropping his hand and donning an affronted glare, Killian replied,

"Only a complete and utter besmirching of my pristine character."

"Nice!" said Emma. "I'm a big fan of… smirchings."

"Swan, you were my best hope for an ally. Won't you even consider defending your husband's honor?"

Smee boldly ignored the moanings of his captain, saying,

"Your Highness, Sheriff; I'm glad you're here. You're going to want to hear this one."

"Bloody hell," breathed Killian; while his rage may have been feigned, he didn't particularly wish to be humiliated in front of his father-in-law. Or his wife, for that matter.

"We were just recounting the many times our captain has injured himself with his hook," Marvel explained. "Beyond this most recent incident."

David glanced down at Killian's leg, which was bent and resting gingerly on its toes behind him. He raised questioning eyebrows; Killian rolled his eyes in answer. "Your hook did that? Dammit, we should have brought Neal. We're always telling him not to run with sharp objects: case in point."

"What's that, Dave? You'd like to be run through with something pointy?" Killian flashed a cheeky grin. "Happy to oblige."

" _Anyway_ ," interrupted Smee. "Continue, milady. I think I know where this is headed."

Marvel took a breath and launched back into her anecdote. "You assisted the captain into his quarters, where he had intended to sleep until sober. But he insisted on undressing first."

"Um… not sure I want to know, guys," cringed David, but Smee was nodding.

"Yes, I remember that, clear as day. He was so drunk he got his hook caught somewhere… uh… below the belt, shall we say?"

Over the knowing snickers, Killian could be heard trying in vain to get control of the situation. "Woah, mate; not a one of us has had enough rum for _that_ tale. Myself, in particular. What say we turn the discussion to a more savory topic?"

David held up a hand with an interested smirk. "No, I'm… kind of curious to hear the rest of this. Emma? Mr. Starkey?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Oh aye, yore 'ighness. Seein' as I witnessed the result with me own eyes. Poor bugger could 'ardly walk for a month, and the gods only know 'ow 'e managed to take a piss."

"Bloody squealers, the lot of you," growled Killian. "Slander me to your heart's content; I'm off to find more pleasant company." He turned and made a show of scouring the house, muttering, "Where's that damn crocodile when you need him?"

As he limped away, the red-faced pirate had to hide a smile. He could hear Marvel continuing the story, sounding confident and happy as she bonded with some of his closest mates. And her contentment was worth a small amount of embarrassment on his part. Even if it meant enduring never-ending ribbing from David.

Killian helped himself to a beverage and found himself listening half-heartedly to a heated argument between Regina and Granny regarding the permissibility of listing her inn on "Air B and B." Whatever that was.

By this time, Marvel was showing off her new earring. The conversation had obviously moved on. Emma wandered over soon afterward, burrowing into Killian's embrace and rolling her eyes at Regina's imperious explanation of town bylaws.

Killian planted a kiss on the top of his wife's head. "I love you, Swan."

Emma smiled sweetly at him. "Do you have a scar?"

With a heavenward glance, he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Her smile grew even broader.

"Can I see it?"

"I do believe you already have." His voice was tantalizing and husky, and he raised a sinful eyebrow, speaking into the space behind her ear. She squirmed, ticklish, whining,

"But now I know the story behind it…"

Killian sighed dramatically. "I suppose you have the right, by virtue of being my beloved." He allowed a few heartbeats to elapse, then added, "But if your father ever asks for a look, he'll earn himself an identical scar for his leisurely and _private_ perusal."

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An hour later, Killian found Marvel alone in the upstairs hallway. She was studying an ornate silver frame on the wall; Killian's heart sank when he realized what it contained.

"Bit much down there, eh?" he asked gently as he came to a stop at her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she replied, eyes never leaving the frame's contents. "Everyone is very nice."

"It's all right, love; no one begrudges you a moment of solitude. I only thought I'd make sure you're okay."

"You don't need me anymore," she stated, her tone quiet but steady. Killian winced.

"Of course I do; don't be daft."

"I know it's silly, but I always thought… I thought this would turn out to be temporary, like it always has been before. One day, you would complete your business here, and we could move on, back to sailing, back to the old days." She raised her hand to trace an outline on the glass, and even though Killian knew what was there, his eyes followed her fingers anyway.

Killian and Emma at the altar. Pink and orange background sky, the clock tower from which that damn curse would later erupt. Adoration, joy, and a little bit of astonishment on their faces. And underneath the photo, in flowery calligraphy, the self-written vows expressing devotion, thanks, love unabating. _They say that a captain's heart…_

"Snow White made that for us," Killian said absently. His gaze left the decorative words and fixed on Marvel's face.

"It's lovely."

"Look, Marvel, it doesn't… I mean, I hadn't realized, when I…" He trailed off. Every word of that vow was still true, and he wouldn't take anything back, even knowing what he did now. So what was he trying to say? "A man's heart, a... a _human's_ heart has the capacity for many different kinds of love, and just because-"

"You're quite obviously happy here," interrupted Marvel as she turned to face him. She sounded resigned, now, with dark blue eyes pragmatic. "So many people to love you, more space and comfort than I could ever provide. Your family and home."

"Aye. I am."

"Then you don't plan to ever leave."

Hurting for her, Killian shook his head once, slowly. "No."

She drew a long breath and nodded bravely. "I see."

Marvel turned as if to head toward the guest bedroom, but Killian wouldn't end things there. He caught her wrist.

"Hold on a moment, love. Think about it a tick. Things would, of necessity, be different. We couldn't go back to the old days, not now you're free of the ship."

"Maybe not. But it could still be the two of us, together. Watching out for each other. Caring for one another. Over the waves."

"It can be like that," Killian protested. "Only here, instead."

"How can it?" Her voice was so small, choked with dust left by shattered visions of the future. Killian slid his hand lower until he could entangle his fingers with hers.

"I still need you, Marvel. I still love you, as I've always done. That won't change, ever." He gave her hand a squeeze. "Stay with us?"

Previously staring off at nothing, Marvel's eyes leapt to his face at that, clouded with incomprehension. "Stay? In your beautiful house, and me with no claim to your heart?"

"Emma and I would like you to stay."

"Permanently?"

"Aye. Or at the very least, as long as you want. We can look out for one another, not as captain and his ship, but as family."

Marvel took a moment to read his sincerity. Her surprise eased, but concern still tinged her features. "But… but the wee grumpy man intimated that I would be a bother."

"Bloody dwarf," growled Killian under his breath, rolling his eyes. In a much gentler tone, he assured her, "He was merely teasing, love. And it was more intended to be at my expense than yours. I promise - you're no bother. We're honored to have you with us."

"And you're not just driveling swill? To pacify me?"

Killian scoffed. "I wouldn't dare. Apart from Emma, you're the one who knows me best. You'd discern immediately if I were bluffing."

She searched his face once more, and he could see the uncertainty begin to fade. She still looked rather sad, but managed a slight smile as she asked,

"Can we still go sailing?"

Killian took a step back, raising a mockingly affronted eyebrow. "Are you serious? What do you take me for, some sort of landlubber?"

After a momentary pause, the rest of the tension suddenly left her shoulders, and Marvel surged forward into his arms. The necessary balance adjustment set Killian's thigh to throbbing, but he wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"Thank you, dearest," murmured the human ship, against his chest. Killian tightened his arms briefly and then limped back a step, wearing a tender grin.

"Now then. We'll endeavor to keep the rabble entertained; you take what time you need and only return if and when you feel prepared. Got that?"

Marvel's answer was a watery smile as she nodded gratefully. Killian gave her a wink, immensely relieved to have assuaged her doubts, at least for the moment. Steeling himself for the trip back down the stairs, he turned.

Grumpy would most definitely be on his best behavior for the rest of the afternoon.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

What a boring Wednesday.

Emma had actually allowed Killian to come to the station that morning, after making him promise to take it easy. But he had quickly completed all of the paperwork, emails, return phone calls, and other tasks that an injured deputy could handle. The pair had come home to join Marvel for lunch, and then Emma had gone back alone. And it wasn't that he didn't enjoy their new roommate's company, but he wished he could take her somewhere, show her more of Storybrooke, work off some of the restlessness he felt. Instead, he was confined to the house with a book he'd already finished and no interest in watching Netflix or failing at Henry's video game or whatever the hell else there was to do while recuperating.

From his position on the couch, Killian woke from a doze to hear Emma ascending the porch steps. She seemed to be on the phone, and she paused for a moment beyond the door, murmuring responses in a volume just out of earshot. She was early. Killian debated with himself whether to go through the effort of struggling to his feet and hobbling to greet her at the threshold… but the persistent tenderness of the injury easily decided that for him, and he sulked back against the pillow. He cast a glance over to the dining table, where Marvel sat in deep concentration, a determined scowl on her face.

Shortly thereafter, Emma opened the door and stepped through, saying,

"No, I mean… of course it's a relief, it's just… not all that surprising. We… right… Yeah." She sauntered over to her recumbent husband, flashing him a bright grin as she continued to listen. "Yep… uh huh. Okay… Okay. Thank you."

She stabbed the End Call button, tossed the phone onto the coffee table, and bent to crash her lips against his. Pleased and slightly bewildered, Killian reached up, drawing her closer, deepening their kiss for no other reason than because she seemed happy. Emma perched awkwardly above him, one knee between his legs and the other still planted on the floor. Both of her hands massaged his scalp for a moment, then her right began a sultry slide down his chest. She broke away long enough to murmur,

"Missed you."

Killian shuddered under her touch; her nimble fingers caressed his abdomen and he unconsciously shifted his hips in a movement that stoked the blaze in his leg. But then Emma's hand turned left, miles away from anywhere fun.

"Now hold still."

"Emma, what-"

His question was swallowed by Emma's renewed kiss. He tensed, wincing in reciprocation, a momentary hot flare in the wound. Then Emma's healing magic was tingling through him, and he held her tighter in thanks for the slow fading of his pain. Soon enough, the last aching remnants had vanished, leaving Killian giddy with relief. Emma settled her weight more comfortably onto his lap, no longer afraid of hurting him. The pirate allowed the wiggles but kept his arms loosely around her. Once she was settled, he pressed his lips to her temple.

"Good news, I take it?" he asked softly in reference to her phone conversation.

"It was your lawyer," she confirmed. "Dunno why he called me instead of you, but they're dropping the charges. The evidence kits came back clean."

Killian released a breath. It was one thing to logically convince himself he had nothing to worry about, but quite another to have it confirmed. To have none of the unlikely negative outcomes actually come true. Matching grins of relief graced their faces as they let the news sink in. Then Killian remarked,

"Just as you said, Swan."

"Yep. Told you."

He kissed her again and murmured,

"Thank you for restoring my leg."

"Well, it was getting lonely in the office without you. So… no more sick days. Got it?"

"Aye-aye, Sheriff."

They snuggled for a few more minutes, and then Killian said,

"Suppose all that remains, then, is to return to Newburyport in the near future so we can retrieve my hook."

"And your jacket," she added. "That one was hella expensive."

"And the jacket," he amended. "Nearly forgot. So, two stops, then."

"Two?"

"Aye. Evidence, and then that blasted beach where I stashed the hook."

She gave him a raised eyebrow; he met the expression with one of his own.

"You didn't expect I kept it with me in the Land Without Magic, did you? I know your ridiculous version of Hook. How could we have summoned assistance with deluded people thinking I'm that man, or worse, utterly mad?"

"So you buried it on the beach?"

"Good thing, too. I'd have been forced to surrender it into evidence as well. And good luck trying to work _that_ into a believable tale."

She slid her hand down his arm until she could take the steel in her fingers. "And the one you're using now…"

"What, Spare Number Two?" He made a face. "It's rubbish."

Emma had been surprised when first learning he owned more than one hook. They all looked the same to her. But he claimed to instantly know the difference.

"The only reason I keep it is for an instance just like this."

"What about Spare Number One?"

Killian looked at her as if she'd gone insane, but she could see the teasing glint in his eyes. "My Sunday best? Why; have we a wedding to attend?"

Emma rolled her eyes at him, planted another peck on his cheek, and then pushed herself up. "Guess we better pray the good one's still where you left it, or there'll be no living with you."

He also stood, testing the newly-healed leg and reveling in blissful freedom from pain. Stretching, he called,

"What do you say, Marvel? Shall we make it a sailing excursion? This weekend, perhaps?"

Marvel looked up briefly, sparkling a grin at him before returning to her task. "You never have to ask."

"Whatcha working on over there?" asked Emma, noting Marvel's diligence. The other woman sat back in her chair and scowled at the paper before her.

"Practicing penmanship," she sighed. In response to her dejected tone, Killian sauntered over, Emma in tow.

"And how is it coming?"

Marvel glanced down at her efforts, cringed, and made as if to cover it with a hand, but then sheepishly rotated the page so Killian could see.

"I don't understand; I know what I want it to look like, but the pen won't move in the way I wish."

The nearly full page contained dozens of wobbly scribbles: mostly her own name, with the occasional _Captain_ , _Killian_ , or _Jolly Roger_ thrown in. The words were definitely readable, though still looked like the scrawlings of a young child. Killian fixed her with a warm smile and encouraging nod.

"I see marked improvement; don't get discouraged. No reason to rush it. What do you say, Swan? It's legible, isn't it?"

"Hell yeah," Emma replied emphatically. "Better than mine is, sometimes. What I want to know is how you can possibly know your alphabet already."

"Oh, I learned that a long time ago," shrugged Marvel. "When my captain would read aloud to…" Here she stopped with an anxious look at Killian, who motioned for her to continue. "To Miss Milah. He… did he tell you? He helped her to study her letters, and I would observe."

"Milah wasn't afforded much in the way of formal education," explained Killian quietly. "She knew enough to get by, but reading was a way to pass the time on long voyages."

"Makes sense," said Emma. To Marvel, she reasoned, "So all you really need now is to train your fingers to draw the right shapes."

"Aye," agreed Killian, sliding the paper back toward the human ship. "And that will only develop with practice." He tapped the curve of his hook over a solitary _Rumplestiltskin_ , adding, "Although I'd caution against invoking _his_ name too many times. That cunning blaggard is liable to materialize before your very eyes if you're not careful."

Paling, Marvel nodded seriously. "I'll refrain from printing his name any further. I only thought it would be a bit of variety, and he has so many letters…"

"It's all right, love; I was only joking."

She did not look much reassured. But then Emma broke in, pulling a chair out and settling herself at the table next to Marvel. "So… I ran into Regina today. We got to talking, mostly about you."

"Me?" Marvel tilted her head. "Whatever for?"

"The portal thing," explained Emma. "It isn't exactly a common ability for magic users to have. Kind of useful, though."

"Any theories as to its origin?" Killian wondered as he took a seat across the table.

"I guess we're thinking a combination of the original enchantment being changed by crazy goddess powers. Maybe since Marvel's… kind of… _purpose_ is travel, the portals are like a side-effect? Or something? Anyway, yeah… super useful, if you could learn to control it."

"Aye," agreed Killian, thinking of the many situations he could have used such a skill. "Perhaps with a bit of assistance…"

"Yeah, we talked about that, too. We'll definitely help you when we can. Maybe also figure out what else you might be able to do."

"That would be most kind," replied Marvel. "I would hate to be the cause of further injury." She lifted her pen, formed careful letters, and then rotated the page again to show Killian her scrawled, _SORRY._ Her expression looked perfectly contrite… and faintly reminiscent of a chastened Smee. Killian rested his hand over hers.

"Don't fret, love. Thanks to your portals and Emma's healing, I'm home and freshly rehabilitated." He patted his thigh with his hook for emphasis. Then he winked. "And let me assure you, I fully intend to remain so for the foreseeable future."

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In celebration of his newly restored freedom, Killian proposed an evening stroll to the docks, and both Emma and Marvel were quick to agree. Killian was eager to bring Marvel aboard her former incarnation; while they had driven by on their initial tour of the town, they had not yet had an opportunity for an up-close encounter.

Emma and Killian walked hand in hand, with Marvel all over the place in her attempts to keep up. It was a good thing they lived so close to the harbor, or they may have taken hours to reach it, for all the times Marvel stopped to examine a new in-person discovery. A friendly puppy. A stunningly fragrant lily. A girl on a bicycle. The drone of a hummingbird's wings as it zipped past her head. She was like a young child, all wide-eyed wonder, leaving Killian absolutely charmed by the sight.

Near the docks, after stopping yet again to allow Marvel time to catch up, Emma squeezed Killian's hand and then called,

"So. You excited to see… yourself?"

"Aye!" Marvel exclaimed with a vigorous nod. "It will be like seeing through my captain's eyes."

"You'll have to help me ensure everything is in order," Killian told Marvel with a sly look at Emma. "The use of magic isn't exactly the proper method for berthing a ship as grand as the Jolly Roger."

"Well, sorry for worrying more about where _you_ were than how to 'properly' take care of your ship," grumbled Emma lightly. "I could have just left her floating out in the middle of nowhere, and who knows where she'd be by now."

Killian placed an affectionate peck on her cheek. "Thank you, love. What's that saying? A is for effort?"

Emma scoffed, gently smacking his chest. "That doesn't even make any sense."

Now ahead of them and relying on her intuition for directions, Marvel waved them on. "I've spotted my friend!"

Emma turned a questioning gaze on Killian, who shrugged. They increased their pace, but could not match the enthusiastic charge of the human ship.

Her friend, as it turned out, happened to be a gull. When Killian and Emma reached the berth where the Jolly Roger was moored, it was to find Marvel with her head thrown back, squinting up at the foreroyal yard, beaming. Killian spotted the bird roosting in the heights and hazarded a guess.

"Your friend, I take it?"

"He likes me," she said proudly. "My spars are the only ones on which he'll alight."

"Then that bird has excellent taste. And that's something I never imagined saying."

"Does he have a name?" Emma asked, seeming to be humoring her more than actually wanting the answer.

"Don't be ridiculous!" giggled Marvel. "Gulls don't bear names."

"They... don't."

"Of course not." Glancing from one face to the other, Marvel must have concluded that neither of her companions were privy to this knowledge. "Of all the wild creatures of the sea, only whales and krakens bother with names."

"And mermaids, surely," added Killian; Marvel shuddered.

"Quite right, dearest, though I try not to acknowledge their existence, myself." She took hold of the railing on the gangplank. "Shall we?"

"After you."

Killian allowed both women to go ahead of him, and as Emma passed him, she murmured,

"What about Nemo? And, like… Flounder? Or Flipper? Do dolphins count as whales?"

"Afraid you lost me at Nemo, darling."

"Not _your_ Nemo; the little fish. The… stripey one. Special fin."

Killian hopped lightly to the deck, following a still-musing Emma. He drew a long, contented breath of his beloved ocean air and noticed Marvel doing the same as she turned a slow pirouette. The gentle evening breeze tousled her curls, and even as a new addition among everything familiar, she immediately gave the impression of belonging, as if her human flesh arose from the very timbers and canvas and salt. Killian strode to her side, almost loathe to interrupt and insert his own foreign self into the effortless communion taking place.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly. Glowing, honest but in no way boastful, Marvel breathed,

"Magnificent. Oh, Captain; is this truly how you see me?"

"Aye." He paused to take his own slow survey, all the details he'd glossed over a million times before somehow seen anew through her eyes. "Now you know. Your nickname - it's neither accident nor exaggeration."

He caught sight of Emma leaning casually against the gunwale. He knew she didn't wish to intrude, but he wanted her there with them, sharing in the moment, a part of Marvel's new story. He held out his hand; momentarily, she came over to accept.

"It's so different," whispered Marvel, breaking a long, reverent silence. When she did not explain further, Killian prompted,

"What is?"

"A human life. I thought I could maybe imagine and come somewhat close, but no. Nowhere near."

"So then…" Killian hesitated. But he wanted to know. "Would you change it? Would you go back, given the choice?"

"Never," came the decisive reply. "I would elect to stay here, with you. It may not be what I envisioned... but it's better, I think."

"Aye," agreed her captain. He watched her move effortlessly with the steady rocking of the planks, connected but _free_ , and felt immensely pleased and relieved by her preference. "So do I."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"This is it?" asked Emma, staring dubiously at the unremarkable patch of sand into which Killian had planted his shovel.

"Expecting a big red X?" teased her husband with a cocky wink. He leaned on the handle and watched Marvel wade in the shallows some distance away.

"No; just _any_ kind of marker. How the hell do you know this is the right spot?"

"Centuries of practice. You might say I'm something of an expert."

"All right. So prove it," she smirked. Killian straightened and adjusted his grasp.

"Are you challenging my mettle as a seasoned pirate?"

"Just a friendly wager. You dig fewer than three holes this afternoon, you win."

"And what are the stakes, darling? Since I'm sure to be victorious, I'll only agree to the most coveted of prizes."

Emma drew close, wearing a mischievous expression. As she whispered into Killian's ear, the pirate's eyebrow reached its peak and his gaze became positively wicked.

"Oh, I like the way you think, love," he growled, thrusting the shovel vigorously deeper into the sand. Emma stepped back casually.

"Win-win," she agreed, her own vibe just as naughty.

In less time than one would expect, Killian had created a sizeable pit in the beach. He had chosen a spot close enough to the tideline that, once he got below the top layer, the sand underneath was damp and easy to manipulate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marvel making her way in their direction, glancing all about, a wary look on her face. Emma had her back to the sea and was watching Killian with crossed arms - she seemed certain that, given the size of the pit, he would soon admit defeat. But he had buried the hook deep enough that neither animal nor rogue wave would have a chance of accidentally uncovering it. He kept going.

"Captain?" began Marvel uncertainly. Killian glanced her way but continued digging.

"What's wrong, love?" he grunted. Just then, a glint of silver appeared in the pit, and he gave a triumphant laugh. He cast the shovel aside and crouched. "Out you come, me beauty."

Emma scoffed in fake irritation. "Talking to your hook now? Don't tell me it's alive too."

Killian snatched the steel out of the sand and gave it a quick wipe on his jeans before standing and crooning,

"Someone's upset that she owes a-"

"Don't you feel that?" interrupted Marvel, scanning the sky and the waves in turn. Killian tucked the hook into his jacket pocket, intending a thorough polish before donning it, lest he get sand in the brace's locking mechanism. Concern in his eyes, he shot Emma a questioning look, then stepped to Marvel's side.

"Feel what, Marvel? What's got you so on edge?"

"I… don't know… I-"

Her words were lost in a sudden blast of magic that sent all three of them flying. Killian landed hard on the sand, breath leaving him with a whoosh; nevertheless, he was pushing himself up almost immediately, frantically searching for his companions as well as whatever this new threat was. He caught a split-second impression of Emma picking herself up, too… and then he was engulfed in magic, a vortex that swallowed him and spat him out on the deck of the Jolly Roger in almost the same instant. He crashed onto his knees, disoriented and still struggling for breath. Just as he recognized his surroundings, the vessel beneath him shuddered, groaning. And then it was as if the sea below simply vanished. He was in freefall: like a portal, only more sickeningly violent.

There was nothing to grab onto. His eyes darted side to side of their own accord. He was weightless one moment, impossibly heavy the next, then floating once more. The roar around him deafened. The cartwheeling sky turned a myriad of colors. Then a mighty splash drenched the deck, the ship crackled in protest, and everything went still.

Nauseated with vertigo, Killian groaned, finding himself flat on his back and feeling bruises forming a patchwork over his skin. He sat up slowly; his eyes were still jumping in reaction to the crazed spinning.

"Swan?" Killian called urgently, praying she was unharmed. There was no answer. And before he could get his vision to clear, another raucous jolt rattled the boards. Airborne yet again, the last thing Killian felt was the jarring crack of his skull slamming against the corner of the stairwell hatch.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The garbled voices were not matching up at all with the rhythm pounding through Killian's brain. It should not have been so disturbing to him. But for whatever reason, it was. Enough that it drew him out of the blackness to which he clung so desperately. He just wanted to sleep, damn it; was that so much to ask for?

As sensations trickled back - everywhere below the shoulders because he was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge anything higher - Killian noticed a hand wrapped around his own. Another, rubbing his back. He was lying on his side, somewhere hard, somewhere cold. Uncomfortable. Except for the part of him that didn't exist at present. That was being cradled gently, resting on a lap. Emma's?

Confirming _that_ would mean opening his eyes. Which would certainly make everything hurt worse.

More words slurred through the air, voices unrecognizable and uncountable. Made-up phrases. Speaking backwards. Or something. Killian stopped trying. Deciphering was way beyond his current capacity.

Touch was dangerous. Sight impossible. Hearing out of the question. So… smell? Therein may lie a clue. He cautiously deepened his breaths, paying specific attention. As much as he was capable, at any rate.

Ocean. Obvious. And unhelpful. And the deep breaths were only contributing to his whale-sized headache.

Killian failed to interpret the sound coming from beside him for what it was: a warning. He vaguely connected it with a cry of protest, but by then it was too late, and he was being hauled roughly up by the elbow as he moaned and tried to hold onto the contents of his stomach. He made no attempt to straighten on his own. His head lolled forward, eyes shut tightly against the pain in his skull. By force, he was set upright on wobbly legs that would have collapsed beneath him had he not been propped between two other beings. They smelled like orange and mint. Blossoms and vinegar. Sulfurous, burning hair. Killian's gut lurched again.

"...r feet, Captain Jones. There's work to be done."

Killian reached for his face, intent on massaging the ache from his eyes, but the person beneath his arm was blocking the path.

So. He could distinguish words again.

"Gotohell," he mumbled, tasting for the first time the metallic salt of blood in his mouth. He was talking toward the deck at his feet, not the woman before him, but he didn't care in the slightest.

"I could," she answered casually. "But you've wrecked the place."

There was nothing for it. He had to see what he was dealing with. Who it could possibly be. And who else was here with him: Marvel or Emma. He had to open his eyes.

One eye. That would do. Killian winced and peeled an eyelid back, just a bit, just enough to squint painfully at the boards beneath him. Making out, through watering gaze, three sets of feet, plus a fourth facing them. And bloodstained knees in the background. Killian waited for the dizziness to settle, the fuzziness to sharpen, even as a stake drove through his temple deep into his brain, vibrating shocks accompanying each heartbeat.

It took massive effort, but Killian managed to raise his head. He forced his pained groan into a tense chuckle, plastering on a disdainful sneer as he blearily studied the lady before him.

For several heartbeats, he blamed concussion for the fuzziness of her outlines, but the rest of the scene appeared normal enough. It was like she wasn't quite solid, like her very flesh wobbled on wind eddies so that one could never say for sure whether she were tall or short, rounded or slender. Hair, skin, and robes would not settle on a single hue or style; they morphed seamlessly from one to another, sometimes complementary, more often clashing. Killian found his nausea intensifying the longer he watched and soon had to look away.

"Don't believe I've had the pleasure," grunted Killian, squeezing both eyes for a moment at a sudden spike in pain.

"You, dearest mortal, are standing in the presence of Eris, Goddess of Discord and Chaos. You may call me Goddess or Your Holiness; either one will do."

"Bloody hell," complained the pirate. "Thought I was done with you lot."

Eris stepped closer, a haughty air about her. "Is that the appropriate reaction when meeting your deity? I thought you would be more excited, considering how long you've been promoting my cause."

Killian squinted at her blankly. The bump to the head must have slowed his mental acuity, for he hadn't the slightest clue to what she referred. She sighed.

"Anarchy? Mayhem? Random slaughter? All very much my passion and your life's work."

Killian couldn't bring himself to protest, even if he wasn't that man anymore. He was too damn woozy. "Fine. Granted. Can we skip to the demands, please? And then the part where you magically restore my cranium in thanks for the chaos thing?"

The goddess put a finger to her lower lip, tapping as she scrutinized him. Then, with an impish grin, she shook her head. "This is quite a good look for you, Captain. Painted red, all askew, only one eye open. I hate symmetry, you know." Her gaze fell upon his hook where it rested on her henchman's shoulder. "And _that_ is why you're my favorite mortal. I wouldn't go so far as to say that _everyone_ should have one. Because that would be too much conformity. But what a lovely example of deviation."

If Killian's head hadn't hurt so much, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he merely sighed. "You're too kind."

A quiet shuffle from behind him brought Killian's attention back to his most pressing concern. Bracing himself for the inevitable pain and vertigo that would surely result, he twisted as much as he could to look rearward. A quick glimpse of auburn was enough, and he turned back, grimacing.

"Marvel? You all right, love?"

"I'm not hurt, Captain." Her voice was small, uncertain.

"And _her_ ," gushed Eris. She shivered in exaggerated ecstasy. "Such a beautiful anomaly."

Killian didn't care for this goddess' tone. "Be that as it may… I would dearly love to know what the hell is going on here. And where's Emma? Is she okay?"

Eris shrugged dismissively. "Your magic-wielding wife is quite safe back on the mortal realm's beach. Out of my way, no threat to my plans."

Feeling marginally more stable, Killian wrenched his arms off the shoulders of the two men flanking him. They allowed the action, but each put a restraining hand around the closest bicep. Wearily, the pirate ran his hand along his eyes. "And what plans would those be, then?"

"You're going to help me with a bit of mischief I have in mind. Or rather, give me the means to successfully _achieve_ the mischief."

"Am I?" growled Killian. "I don't recall volunteering my time and service to you. Just what is it I'm meant to be doing?"

"All in good time," the goddess promised. "But first… this is for your part in the organization of the Underworld."

She lifted a finger and a sudden blast of magic slammed into Killian's cheek, a strike that combined the sting of a slap and the bruising force of a punch without causing any pain to Eris. Killian's head snapped back, and if it weren't for the brutes gripping his arms tightly, he likely would have toppled to the deck. Growling, the pirate waited for his battered brain to stop rattling in his skull before facing the goddess once more. He slitted one eye open and snarled,

"I merely helped to restore that cursed place to its rightful state of being. Zeus-"

"Stuffy old Zeus. Yes, I know his designs. How it was meant to be. But it was so much better under Hades' rule. So much more suffering. People trapped for centuries, or better yet, lost forever in the River of Souls. All this 'moving on' business is much too procedural for my taste."

Killian gently pressed the back of his hand against the throb; a trickle of fresh blood mingled with the dried caked on his cheek. "I thought Zeus rules you all."

Eris scoffed. "He thinks he does. He's got far less control than his deluded followers believe. Next."

She cooly appraised her captive, and Killian stood unflinching, refusing to cower even under the threat of that one word.

"Neverland. A wondrous place with its feral children and savage king. My second favorite in all the realms, until you helped tame it."

"That was hardly my-"

An invisible fist closed around his airway and he could protest no further. Automatically, he reached for his throat, but it was no more effective than any of the previous dozen times he'd been choked by magic. Following an invisible prompt by their boss, the two guards released him and stepped aside.

"I quite miss the wilds of that island. This is for Neverland."

This time, the blast drove into his middle and he was instantly on his knees, doubled over. Still unable to breathe, but for an altogether different reason now. He heard Marvel whimper a protest and felt her hands on his back. Eris did not try to stop her, an omission for which Killian was grateful. He had enough to worry about without the goddess pouring out her wrath on Marvel as well.

Struggling past the inevitable panic of having had the wind knocked out of him, Killian was finally able to suck in a painful breath. As he clutched his brace against an aching abdomen, he panted with his eyes shut, all the while frantically seeking a way to escape. Eris and her men waited quietly. She seemed in no hurry to further the conversation.

"Anything else?" wheezed Killian. He squinted up at her but was forced to lower his gaze when the stabbing pain in his head became too great. "Black Fairy? Evil Queen? The bloody Dark One? Any other obsessions I've disrupted?"

"Small fish," she answered, bored. "Although… now that you mention it… I _am_ rather disappointed in your decision to align yourself with Good and Law. You made such an excellent villain. So for that…"

No magic this time. Her roundhouse kick caught him in the jaw, just below where it hinged with his skull. The force of impact drove him sideways and back, out of Marvel's reach. He sprawled on his right elbow and hip, sliding along the boards, and for a long moment, everything was consumed by pain and darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Gradually, other sensations began to filter back through the pain. Dizziness. Nausea. Anger, helplessness, and a little bit of fear. While he hurt everywhere, Killian's poor bruised brain was suffering the worst of it, and he would have liked nothing more than to collapse unconscious onto his bed and sleep off the raging headache currently plaguing him. With a quiet moan, he shifted his hand closer to his face, then noticed a cloth being held gently against the swelling on his cheek and jaw. Clumsily, he draped his wrist and palm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the overly bright light from a cloudless sky. Marvel misinterpreted the action as a search for reassurance, and she wrapped her free hand around his limp fingers.

"Back with us, Captain?" Eris' voice seared into his skull, echoing painfully around and around as he cringed. He didn't dare open his mouth to reply lest something other than words spill out. Marvel's grip tightened on his hand.

"Please leave him be," she requested quietly. "My captain is a good man; he doesn't deserve-"

Interrupting, the goddess' answer dripped with disdain. "This matter doesn't concern you, Ship. While I appreciate what that fool Brizo did, breaking the natural laws to grant you human form, it doesn't mean I won't send you away if you become too much of a nuisance."

Marvel tried again, and Killian's heart swelled at her courage. "But I thought you needed his help, and if you continue to hurt him, how can he-"

Her words turned into a grunt of startled pain as she was grabbed by a henchman and yanked roughly away. Killian's protective instinct overrode his pain - and common sense - and he wrenched his eyes open. Slapping his hand against the deck as leverage, he rolled onto his back. As he moved, he sought the figure harassing Marvel. The man was at least three images acting as one. Killian cursed his impaired senses and aimed for the vague center of the mess. His hook lashed out at the man's ankle.

Surprisingly, the weapon made contact. More surprisingly, Killian didn't pass out with the sudden exertion. But even though steel sank deep into flesh, Eris' man didn't so much as wince. He seemed to flicker for just a microsecond, and then Killian's hooked arm clattered to the deck uninhibited. While the pirate caught his breath, Marvel was shoved roughly against the hatch, where she curled in on herself, glaring.

"Leave her out of this," snarled the pirate weakly. "It's me you want."

Eris shrugged. "Happy to. If she'll behave."

Killian set his jaw, winced at the resulting lance of pain, then shoved himself up with trembling arms. The deck tilted dramatically and he had to swallow several times to keep from vomiting, but he was sitting, at least. He drew a knee to his chest on which to balance his elbow, then, massaging his eyes, he set about collecting his wits.

"Ready to discuss business?" asked Eris, impatient.

"Give us a tick," Killian snapped back. He was treading dangerous waters, antagonizing her like that, but just then, all he could focus on was remaining upright. Finally, he raised his head and fixed the goddess with his best hateful stare. "Just what is it you want?"

"I need you to steal an item for me from dear old Zeus. He's got it well protected from deities like me and my men. But a mere mortal should be able to penetrate his shields with no problem."

Killian sighed, listening to the ache drumming between his ears.

"Item?" he prompted. He just wanted to get the talking over with, so he could complete her bloody quest, so he could go home and snuggle up to Emma while she waved his aches away.

"More specifically, a potion. Created by Zeus himself and used to thwart my efforts at mischief. Put simply, it reverses magical influence. So if I decide to, say, turn off gravity in a village, Zeus can use the potion to counteract my hard work. Such a bore."

"I get you the potion, you flip the world upside down... what's to prevent Zeus from creating more?"

"Oh, he undoubtedly will. But it will take time, and I can have all sorts of fun in the interim. Plus, if I use the potion on _myself_ , it'll make me immune to their attempts to capture or otherwise restrain me. I'll be free to keep one step ahead while they slog behind, trying to clean up the mess." She couldn't contain her glee at the thought.

Killian didn't exactly fancy a reality where the goddess of discord could roam about unchecked. Every moral instinct screamed for him to refuse. But he had a hunch that he would have no choice. Without waiting for him to reply, Eris carried on.

"Zeus keeps all of his treasures on a volcanic island surrounded by shielding that, as I said, will not allow any other god, demigod, or demon to enter. Mortals, on the other hand, are unaffected. I've tried for centuries to counteract the shields, to no avail. My only option, it seems, is to rely on a puny human such as yourself."

"If any old mortal can enter, how does Zeus even have any treasures left?"

Eris scowled. "That bastard didn't exactly make it easy. You'll remember I mentioned a volcano. What didn't say was 'continuously erupting' volcano. Continuous except for when Zeus wants to visit… and on one six-hour period every 100 years. The island resets itself, or something like that. The point is, theoretically, a human _could_ make it in and out in that window. But no one ever has. The range of toxic gases and boiling ash clouds extends to a distance beyond a three-hour journey. By the time one reaches the island, there is not enough time left for the return trip, and all who attempt it perish."

"Brilliant. Seems there's no need to continue the tale, then. So why don't you let us go and save us all the time and trouble?"

Triumphantly, Eris held up a finger. "Ah, but this is the reason I specifically sought _you_ out. You and this spectacular ship of yours. She _is_ the fastest ship in all the realms, is she not?"

And there it was. The reason… and the truth. Killian winced, knowing it was a rhetorical question. But he could try.

"Technically… fastest of her kind. The inhabitants of the Land Without Magic have created vessels which operate on flame - these could certainly outrun even the Jolly Roger."

"But are useless for my purposes. Such a monstrosity would surely attract the attention of dear Zeus."

"And a 100-ton pirate ship would not?"

"We have boats of similar design. Those driven by wind or muscle power alone are much more in line with natural laws, and thus, invisible to Zeus' magic."

Killian thought hard for a moment, despite the protests of his battered mind. "Magic, then. Nab a magic-wielder, ask them to 'poof' to the island and back. Simple."

"They would end up right back where they started, without ever having set foot on the volcano. Same goes for portals. You think mighty Zeus never accounted for that?"

His shoulders slumping in defeat, Killian growled. "Well, even if you're correct, and my Roger is the only way, the question remains: why should I help you?"

Mocking, Eris thrust out her bottom lip. "Don't you like me?"

"Beating a man senseless is hardly the way to go about winning allies, darling."

" _Holiness_ ," she corrected. "And you're probably right. But… I'm a goddess. I do what I like. And I expect to be obeyed."

Killian laughed once, humorlessly. "If you were on as close terms with Hades as you claim, you'll know how much trouble he had 'convincing' me to submit to his will. You won't find it any easier."

"Hades had a disadvantage," the goddess pointed out smugly. "You had nothing to lose. You were already dead, no hope of reuniting in the land of the living, even if your friends were to succeed at freeing you down there. Or so you thought. Up here, though… your happy beginning? The ones you love? You have much more to live for."

Killian swallowed; it sounded as if she already knew how she could get him to cooperate. But she surprised him.

"I know what you're thinking. And while it's true that you'd likely do almost anything if I threatened your loved ones, it's too predictable. I have something much more fun in mind. And, believe it or not, it doesn't necessarily have to be _you_ who is convinced."

With that, Eris stretched out her arm, fingers splayed. Killian stiffened as a jolt of dark magic surged through him, setting his nerve endings aflame for one brief, torturous second. Then he slumped down against his knee, clinging desperately to consciousness. Grimacing, the pirate mumbled around his leg,

"Bloody hell. What did you do?"

"Do you know, Captain, that there is one natural law that I am in favor of? Entropy. Such a precious force. Turning order into disorder. I love it. And can you think of a bodily process that defies entropy?" She paused, as if expecting an answer; Killian remained stubbornly silent. "Healing, of course. Healing fixes broken systems, brings back the order, removes the chaos."

"And, what, you've taken away my ability to heal?" guessed a more-grumpy-than-frightened Killian. "Good thinking. If you wanted to ensure my death before I could retrieve your bloody potion, that's certainly one way to do it."

"Not only that," said Eris, ignoring his sarcastic evaluation of her plan. "This curse will also slowly begin to reopen all of your old wounds, one by one. In random order, of course. And judging by the scars visible even now, I would guess you've had a lot of them."

"I stand by my former assessment," Killian spat, even as he quailed at the thought. "Not much of a strategist, are you?"

"Oh, you won't die, not for a while yet. I've ensured the curse will progress slowly. You'll have enough time to reach the island; probably even enough for the return trip. But if you're smart, you'll figure out a way of counteracting it before that point."

She winked, and he seethed. But he drew a steadying breath and fought back the urge to lunge at her.

"It's not enough," he told her, some of the venom bleeding through despite efforts to contain it. "My life is not worth the suffering you'll inflict when you get your hands on that damn potion."

Instead of arguing, Eris suddenly teleported next to him, grabbed his wrist and shoulder, and hauled him to his feet. Killian grunted, feeling his knees giving out as the pressure exploded in his head. But Eris and her men held him upright and dragged him to the port gunwale. Dazed, Killian almost believed they were of a mind to chuck him overboard, and he could do nothing to stop it. But then Eris tangled her fingers in the back of his scalp, pulling painfully at the lacerated goose-egg above his left temple. While the pirate hissed and tried to break free, the goddess directed his face toward the horizon.

With her unoccupied hand, she pointed at a hazy smudge in the distance. Killian couldn't make out any detail, afflicted as he was by rippling double vision and watering eyes.

"There. The island. Just follow the ash clouds. If you leave now, you will arrive at just the right moment. Delay, and it will spell your doom."

Without one further comment, the goddess and her two henchmen vanished, and Killian collapsed hard against the railing. He scrambled for grip on the ship's wooden side: he didn't fancy a jarring landing on his knees once again. Leaning nearly all of his weight against the gunwale, Killian slowly rotated to turn his back to the sea, seeking Marvel out.

The human ship was already on her feet, hurrying to his side, and Killian panted a forced smile.

"There now, love. They've gone. We're safe."

Marvel skidded to a stop before she could plow into him, then crept cautiously forward and ducked under his good arm to provide support. "Captain. Please, sit."

She bent her knees and slowly lowered herself into a crouch. Killian allowed himself to slide down with her until, finally, he landed softly on the deck. Even that gentle impact sent a spear of pain through his skull.

"Do you think you can create a portal, Marvel?" Killian asked tightly.

"But Her Holiness said-"

"Back home," he clarified. "To Emma."

Marvel crawled out from underneath him and twisted to face him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "But you'll die."

Killian's pained scoff was a poor imitation of normal. "The hell I will. Bloody Eris called it a curse; therefore, all I require is True Love's Kiss. Simple."

Marvel appeared unconvinced. "That seems too easy. Wouldn't a goddess have thought of such a thing?"

Killian shifted his weight uncomfortably. The pain in his gut was worsening, in one place in particular, and he was afraid he may know why. Of all the wounds to start with… "These deities deserve far less credit than they're normally given. In any case…"

He broke off, looking away, unable to meet her eyes. "I can't enable that monster to do as she pleases. She can't get what she wants. Not this time." He forced himself to focus back on her and was even rewarded with a single image for once. "Do you understand, love?"

Marvel blinked at him, close to tears, distress clear on her stricken face. A slow nod turned into a vehement shake of her head. Killian sighed, grasping at _some_ way to convince her… and he wasn't expecting the wave of magic that crashed over him, sending him slumping forward into Marvel's waiting arms.

"I'm sorry, my love," she murmured. And then everything faded from view.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

There was nothing all that unusual about waking in restraints, at least not as a concept. Varying levels of pain and confusion, that was par for the course, too. But the pillow… that was a new one.

As usual, Killian remained as still as possible while he waited for full consciousness to return. Better to be fully awake with at least a vague sense of what was going on before alerting his captors. It was difficult not to react, though, when even shallow breathing hurt.

Ropes wound around his torso, just under his arms. Binding him to a solid cylinder of sorts. Tree stump, perhaps? His hand and brace were bound together - in front of him, thank goodness - but he didn't yet dare try and lift them to see if they were attached anywhere else. His toes pointed skyward, the pressure on his ankles a good indication of their tied state, as well.

The pillows - one to sit on and one to rest his head against - were an oddity no matter what scenario his injured brain tried to recall or imagine. He was definitely outside: the scent on the air, the breeze, the light beyond closed eyelids all attested to that. And unless the head injury had completely scrambled his sanity, pillows were uncommon outdoors.

Killian shifted fractionally and immediately regretted it. In addition to the wildly throbbing bump on his head, which now felt as if it had been clumsily bandaged, a dozen other points of pain vied for his attention. And some of them were eerily familiar, yet jarring in their coexistence. The blow from Excalibur that had sent him to the Underworld, alongside the raw desperation of a newly empty wrist. Ribs buckled by several tons of steel, echoing an ankle snapped by malice and burdened too soon. Burning stripes crisscrossing his back. A recent annoyance, returned. Muted, all; mere shadows of their original agonies. But increasing in intensity with each passing moment.

Oh gods. He was dead, wasn't he? Hades had returned to his throne, intent on renewing his tortures, starting with one who had assisted in his defeat. Killian would open his eyes to see the flame-haired monstrosity leering at him. He swallowed a whimper and snatched his resolve from stores he had forgotten he possessed.

The sky was blue. Not orange, not bloodstain red. There were wispy clouds and sea birds - not the pluck-your-eyes-out-as-you-crossed-the-River-Styx kind, but the follow-your-ship-in-hopes-of-a-handout kind. Killian's eyes watered in relief. And then he spotted Marvel at the helm. And then he remembered everything and was too dumbfounded to do much beyond stare, for a full minute, as concussion muddled his thoughts.

She had knocked him out. Tied him to the mast. And now stood sailing the ship - her own damn self! - without one glance his way. Killian regained the power of action and immediately set to work straining against the ropes, trying to free his hand and burning wrist. He could feel sticky blood stiffening his shirt, front and back. Gathering within his brace. Trickling down his temple.

The flurry of exertion soon had his head spasming in bursts of pain, and he dropped back against the pillow in defeat. With eyes squeezed tight against the throbbing ache, he snarled,

"Dammit, Marvel; what the bloody hell d'you think you're playing at?"

There was a long pause, and Killian began to wonder if she had even heard. But when he peeled his eyes open again, it was to find her staring down at him in guilt. She rubbed the back of her neck and mumbled,

"Are you very angry, Captain?"

"Furious," he replied evenly. Her lower lip trembled, but she put on a determined scowl.

"I'm sorry to have infuriated you. But I don't regret having done it. I only want you to live."

About to respond, Killian felt the skin on his neck split; just the very top layer, but so uncannily reminiscent of Camelot that it felt worse than it actually was. He sucked a breath and tried to remain calm as the initial sting faded. Marvel must have seen the pain on his face, for she abandoned the wheel and rushed to his side.

"Dearest? What's wrong? Are you all right?"

Grimacing, Killian lifted his bound wrists in order to press the back of his hand against the newly reopened wound. "No, I'm bloody well _not_ all right! My own damn ship has mutinied against me, and meanwhile I'm cursed to be torn to bits and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Marvel pulled his arms away and examined the cut along the side of his neck. It was little more than a red line at present, much like the first result of Excalibur's touch. But she had observed his other cursed injuries and knew it would only grow worse with the passage of time. Grimly, she fished a large square bandage from her pocket; one of the modern ones she had looted from the first aid kit in the captain's quarters.

Eyes still closed, Killian rested his arms on his legs. "You're a terrible captor, you know."

"Am I?" She pulled open the package and aimed the sticky edges toward the intact portion of skin.

"You're much too close, for one thing." Killian sat still until the bandage was in place, then slowly reached up, demonstrating his ability to catch her off guard without actually making the attempt. Marvel held her ground; she knew he had no intention of hurting her. As she gently smoothed the bandage down, she murmured,

"I don't recall being there for this injury."

Killian opened his eyes and met her gaze sadly. "I don't believe you were."

"Was it serious?"

"Aye."

She bit her lip, wincing at the thought. Then she turned her attention to his abdomen. Only two buttons needed undoing before the blood soaked bandage came into view. It would likely need wrapping soon. Killian flinched when she lay a soft hand over the wound.

"And… this one…" She sounded tentative. "This one… They came to me, didn't they? After. Each on their own, never knowing of the others. But all bringing their memories. Their thanks. Their… t… tears. And… and I couldn't..."

She broke off, shaking with a sudden onslaught of sobs. Gingerly, Killian lifted tied wrists and used his brace to rub her arm soothingly, disregarding the tenderness of the stump beneath. He shed a tear of his own, thinking of his loved ones each making secret pilgrimages to his beloved ship as they mourned their loss, spilling profound grief to the vessel that was not quite as empty as they had believed it to be.

Gradually, Marvel composed herself and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. With a sniffle, she turned an earnest gaze on her patient captain.

"Don't you see, my love? I can't lose you, not again. Not when there's something I can do to save you."

Killian sighed heavily. "I understand, lass. And in many instances, I would react in the same way."

"So you agree with me, then? It isn't mutiny? We'll retrieve the potion together?"

She looked so hopeful, and Killian hated to let her down, but…

"No."

"No? But you just said-"

"Marvel, this is wrong. Elevating one life over the lives of a multitude, even if that one life is someone you care for and the others are strangers… it's morally unethical."

She looked hurt for a moment, then her face hardened. "Well, I suppose I'm just not built to think that way." She began to blot at the line of blood that had suddenly appeared on his cheek, adding, "You are everything to me. I can be nothing but loyal to you, and no one else. You see, while a captain's heart may be given away, a _ship's_ heart belongs always to her captain."

Killian closed his eyes, feeling as if he'd betrayed her, even though he knew that was absurd. "Marvel, please-"

"I must retrieve more bandages from below," she announced. "If I agree to release your arms, will you promise not to turn the ship around?"

Killian winced. "Afraid I couldn't do that, love."

She stood up, all prickles and coldness. "Well, then. That settles that." Her inexperience at masking emotion showed then as tenderness crept back into her demeanor. "Just wait here. Don't be foolish and make an escape attempt; you'll only end up hurting yourself more. I'll be back presently."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Marvel's well-meant warning was not nearly enough to deter Killian from trying to get free. As soon as she was out of sight, his wrists were up by his mouth, the ropes between his teeth despite the ache from a heavily bruised jaw. For having had less than a fortnight's practice with her hands, Marvel had managed frustratingly admirable knots. Long centuries of observing, it seemed, had taught her the theory, and a clever brain allowed her to replicate her memories.

The tangle of knots was out of range on the undersides of his arms, so Killian set to work trying to tighten all but one strand that encircled him. He hoped to find enough slack to slip his hand through: that would significantly simplify the rest of the process. No such luck, though. Despite Marvel's concern for his well-being, she'd had no qualms against tightening the ropes too securely.

The most obvious course of action would be to slip his stump free from the brace. Then there would be enough room to free the other arm. But Killian hesitated. For one thing, the leather was concealing the increasingly-sore wrist's end, controlling the bleeding and allowing him to pretend, for the most part, that nothing was wrong. The other thing, though, was the inevitable pain of the procedure, and he just wasn't desperate enough to bring that upon himself. Yet.

He still had the ropes between his teeth when Marvel returned, carrying bandages and a glass of water. Her frown at his position was less angry than sad.

"Love, please," she whined. "Just rest."

"Not my forte," Killian reminded her between tugs. She knelt beside him and grasped the knot. Sighing, Killian didn't resist her as she pulled his arms downward.

"Your lovely Swan would ask the same." She lifted the water glass and helped him to drink half.

"Were she here, we wouldn't be in this predicament," grimaced Killian. Another lash mark was opening up on his back, and it was growing progressively more uncomfortable to be resting against the wood, even through a pillow.

Marvel made no reply, resolute in her decision. She unhooked the remainder of his shirt's buttons, then paused, at a loss. With a shrug, she pressed a large gauze pad over the saturated bandage covering his Excalibur wound, holding it in place with one hand while she unrolled a long linen strip with the other. Killian fidgeted uneasily, not thrilled with the idea of what she was intending to do.

"Marvel, darling, perhaps this isn't-"

She slipped an arm around his side, then wormed it behind his lower back, below the ropes binding his torso. He snapped his jaw shut and hissed as she inadvertently brushed against several inflamed cuts. Killian arched his back as much as possible in an effort to allow her arm passage. Despite her caution, she also bumped his tender ribs, and he cringed away. Marvel winced right along with him.

"I'm sorry, dearest," she murmured. As quickly as she could, she snagged one end of the linen and tugged it through. When she saw the streaks of blood on her arm as she pulled it out, she paled.

She could curse with the best of them, and it was almost enough to draw a chuckle from the anguished pirate.

Marvel tied a tight knot to hold the gauze in place, then straightened. She looked scared. "Your back. How bad is it?"

"The concern is probably less the severity, more the sheer number," he grunted candidly.

"A flogging?" she guessed.

"More than one."

"What should we do?"

"Assuming an immediate return to Emma is out of the question?" He raised a wry eyebrow and she nodded firmly. "Untying me would be a good start."

Marvel looked thoughtful and completely ignored the suggestion. "Perhaps I could attempt to heal you. Her Holiness Eris may have taken away your natural ability to heal, but she said nothing of magic use by another."

"Give it a go," Killian told her, though he doubted it would work. It seemed too simple a solution for Eris to have overlooked it.

"Problem is… I haven't the foggiest how to even begin." She placed a hand over the short slash on his cheek. Maybe starting small would give her confidence. "How does your Swan manage?"

"I'm… a bit clueless, myself," Killian admitted. "Something to do with emotion, I gather."

Marvel made a face. "I'm not exactly an expert in emotion."

But she closed her eyes, and after a moment, so did Killian. The pirate sat as still as he could for a long while; he didn't wish to distract Marvel from her efforts, however unlikely she was to succeed. He would gladly take any relief from his multiplying pains, in whatever form it took.

With the human ship in such close proximity and distracted by a state of deep concentration, Killian could easily overpower her. Lift his tied hands over her head, manipulate the rope to block her airway. He had no wish to do so, of course, but his reluctance was arguably in a similar vein to her own motives: placing her well-being above those that could be harmed by Eris' mischief. Wouldn't it be hypocritical of him _not_ to make the attempt?

The logic didn't make it any easier to follow through, and his irritation with her earlier decision quickly faded. Why did the right path always have to be so damn difficult to take?

Just as Killian was bracing himself for the physical and emotional pain that would accompany his attack, Marvel suddenly lunged forward and locked her lips over his. Killian's surprise chased away all thoughts of his plan. He sat stunned for several seconds, passive, with the unfamiliar and awkwardly unpracticed kiss happening _to_ him but not _with_ him. And then the shock dissipated and left him feeling only pity.

Gently, Killian turned his face aside and placed his hand on her midsection, pushing her away. She was immediately searching his face, chest, and shoulders.

"Marvel, what-"

"Did it work?" she asked, breathless.

"Work?" So thrown by the unexpected kiss that he was having trouble keeping up, Killian shook his head in bewilderment.

"You said True Love's Kiss could reverse the curse. So, are you cured?"

Killian blinked at her. And in that instant, the cut from Gold's cane, just below his left eyebrow, split and oozed blood down the corner of his eye. Marvel's face fell.

"It didn't work." The crestfallen woman took a square of gauze and patted away the blood, and Killian's heart ached for her. He couldn't bring himself to explain the reason, the mechanics behind True Love's Kiss. He didn't doubt the sincerity on her part; the trouble was on his end. But even though he would only be speaking the truth, he just couldn't remind Marvel that he didn't love her. Not like that, anyway.

"Do you see now?" asked Marvel. Her tone was desperate, almost angry. "We can't go back to Emma. She can't help you. To save you, we _must_ travel to the island. It's the only way."

"I don't… it's still…" He sighed. "Oh, love… it may be different. With Emma, I mean."

She looked confused at first. Then her expression hardened as his meaning began to sink in. She got slowly to her feet, avoiding his gaze. "I ought to… confirm our heading. Please stay here."

Killian closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the pillow. But he couldn't escape the sadness he'd witnessed. The muting of her spirit, the dulling of her sparkle. From the moment he had truly accepted her identity, he had wished only contentment for her. He never wanted her to have to experience what a human life meant. How _hard_ it was. And now here she was, in the thick of it. Absorbing blow after blow, while he sat powerless to protect her.

And unless he allowed her to turn over the damned potion to Eris, and the goddess removed the curse in thanks, Marvel would experience the hardest lesson of all: loss.

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By the time Marvel returned, Killian had fallen into a light doze - the best he could manage with the methodical tearing of his flesh in different places every few moments. At first, he didn't react to her kneeling beside him. But then he felt the ropes around his chest twitching, and he dragged a weary eye open.

"Decided to release me, did you?" His heart wasn't really in the banter, but old habits. Marvel wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I need to see your back." The coils of rope gathered at hip level, still encircling the mast but significantly more loosely. "Perhaps you could turn and lean sort of sideways against the mast?"

Killian understood what she was asking, but questioned his ability to assume the position without significant pain. At the very least, the wriggling about would pull at the open wounds littering his skin, possibly hastening the curse's effects. Gingerly, he shifted his weight more toward his left hip, then bent his knees slightly, inching his heels back until his feet rested flat against the deck. There he paused to catch his breath: the increased pressure against his back was agonizing, and every twitch of his abdominal muscles tugged at the searing Excalibur wound in his gut. It was still superficial, centimeters deep at most, but Killian harbored no illusions. As the curse continued to act upon him, the wound would follow its original course straight through him. Opening muscle, viscera, blood vessels… finally resulting in a chasm as fatal as the first. He could already feel the exit wound stinging, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the lacerations on his back. But Killian remembered. He could differentiate.

Wincing, he allowed his knees to topple to the left, at the same time twisting his upper body in short lurches until all of his weight rested against his left hip and shoulder. Marvel nodded encouragingly, unsure how else to provide assistance. Killian growled through an intense wave of pain that left him shuddering and nauseated. He fidgeted again in a vain effort to make himself more comfortable.

"This would be significantly easier if you were to untie my arms," he panted, the flesh surrounding his eyes tight with pain. Marvel looked sympathetic but held to her resolve.

"I'm sorry, dear; you know I can't do that."

Killian centered his weight once more. "Ah. Well, in that case…"

His sudden lunge up onto his knees definitely took the woman by surprise. A second push hurtled him sideways toward Marvel. Lifting his bound arms, he reached for her, intending to wrestle her to the ground and force her to release him. Or maybe knock her senseless until he could regain control of the situation.

He didn't anticipate the terrifying dip in vision resulting from his head wound. Or how much his equilibrium would be thrown off by blood loss. Or how stiff his joints were, how swollen his injuries, how diminished his capacity for movement. As Marvel ducked by instinct, Killian's blow missed completely. He managed to vault most of the ropes piling around his lower legs, but that only meant he ended up sprawled on the deck, feet entangled, arms uselessly outstretched. The impact knocked the breath from him, ratcheted his anguish noticeably higher... but somehow didn't cause him to lose consciousness altogether.

As Killian struggled to pull a breath, he was already writhing into a position more amenable to pushing himself up. But he kept slipping on the blood spattering the wood beneath him.

Marvel's whine of consternation drove into his dazed brain. Killian pulled his arms inward, attempting to put at least one elbow beneath him. His blunted wrist sparked with agony as he rested weight on it. A quieter twinge in his shoulder echoed the sentiment.

Only seconds had gone by, and Killian felt as if he were trying to swim through honey. And breathe it, too; though his lungs burned, he could get no air. Halfway up on to his elbow, he felt a cool hand cover his eyes. His mind grew remarkably more muddled, his trembling muscles went limp. With one more thrash, Killian vented his frustration at the situation and then surrendered.

Marvel caught him just before he struck the wood again, and his eyes closed in magical slumber.

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The next time Killian woke, it was to find himself in almost the same position as before: bound to the mast, more ropes than previously. Feet and legs secure. This time, though, his mummified right wrist was attached to his side by several coils of rope around his waist. Bandage linen extended over his hand, freezing his fingers into a fist and obstructing his ability to worry any of the knots loose. Wasted effort, really, given the reawakening wrist fracture that would seriously hinder such attempts anyway.

Killian couldn't prevent a tiny groan at all of the pains trickling back into his awareness. Every one of them worse than before… and fated to grow worse still.

A gentle hand was holding his aching stump. Another blotted the raw end, ruthlessly removing blood and trying to assess the seriousness of the wound. Fighting his instinct to pull back from the tortures, Killian finally forced his eyes open.

The usual disorientation was not at all alleviated by how dark it had gotten. Had he slept the whole day away? That would infer that they had already been to the island and left. Blinking, Killian slowly tilted his head to get a better view of the sky.

Not dusk. Ash. A hazy plume blanketed the sun, swirling bits of pulverized rock looking like sand and bubbles caught in a breaking wave. And now that he could see it, he realized he could smell it, too. Sulfurous menace; boiling, burning rock; toxic filth not unlike the scent of the Underworld itself.

The next touch against his amputation had extra bite to it, and Killian jerked his arm back, hissing in pain. Marvel's grasp faltered, but she didn't release him completely.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Then she shifted her grip and once again extended his arm. Killian looked away. The sight had too many associated nightmares for him to stomach just then. As Marvel lay a gauze square over the bleeding scars, she added, "It must be difficult, reliving those horrible days. It hurts me, as well."

Killian said nothing, only swallowed. She began winding another bandage around the stump in order to secure the dressing in place.

"I was so certain you would die. You made such awful noises that first night. And then later, when the fever set in and even Mister Smee was doubtful, and there was no medicine because we were already trapped in Neverland…" She tied the bandage neatly but did not release his arm, beginning instead a delicate massage of quivering muscles. "I wanted so badly to help, yet all I could do was try and remain gentle in my rocking while I prayed to all gods of the seas that you would live."

At long last, Killian turned his face back toward her, meeting her melancholy gaze with his pained one.

"I would not have thanked you then," he admitted. "But I do now."

Marvel smiled softly and continued her comforting massage. "Would you have guessed, back then, how adept you would become at using the hook? How well you would adapt?"

Killian thought back to those first clumsy months and cringed; the memories were made all the more real by the myriad of accidental nicks in his skin - particularly his leg - reopening. "Not at first, no. But it does have its uses beyond the mere weapon I had intended it to be… When it hasn't been confiscated by a mutinous sentient ship."

He tilted his head meaningfully toward the discarded brace, as the actual hook was nowhere in sight. Marvel released his stump then, saying,

"I'll return it after we've succeeded in our mission. Not before."

Killian sighed, wracked by a sudden chill despite the almost-tropical heat in the air. "How much longer?"

Marvel looked past him to the island of their destination. "Less than an hour, I'd say. Are you cold?"

Killian gave a shake of his head, but the shivers in his jaw told a different story. Marvel quickly searched their surroundings and spotted his leather jacket, which had been discarded at some point - he couldn't quite remember when. She hurried to collect it from its heap near the hatch.

"I could always retrieve a blanket from below, if this isn't enough." She returned and draped the leather backwards over his chest, tucking the lapels behind his shoulders. Too exhausted to do much beyond sit passively, Killian did not make any attempt to follow up on his earlier attack.

"Thank you," he murmured. "And… apologies for earlier. You know I don't _want_ to hurt you, I just…" He trailed off. He'd made his position clear. She may not agree, but she must understand by now.

Marvel blotted blood from his forehead. "I know."

Killian dug his blunted arm from beneath his jacket. Marvel had not yet bothered to secure the limb, and though its use caused all sorts of complaints from wrist to shoulder, the pirate appreciated that small bit of freedom. He gently but insistently pushed her arm away as he began to speak.

"I don't demand or expect your loyalty, love. I can't say that I even understand it. Long years together doesn't necessarily equate to devotion."

"Perhaps not. But a good captain does."

"And that's your honest assessment of me?"

"How could it be otherwise?"

With a grimace, Killian raised an eyebrow at her. "I traded you away. To bloody Blackbeard, of all people."

Marvel shrugged. "And then got me back."

"By chance, not through any persistence of my own."

"Even so. You far outvalue that ridiculous oaf. Captain Blackbeard isn't even deserving of the title. He hemorrhages crew and squanders his wealth, and is a pompous prat to boot."

Killian managed a tiny smile, but it didn't last. Earnest, he searched her eyes for any hint of falsehood. "Did he at least treat _you_ well?"

Her response was noncommittal. "More or less. Mostly the bare minimum; the occasional extra care if he felt like throwing orders around. His sailing lacks all finesse, though. It's a wonder I came through as unscathed as I did. Both times."

"Thank the gods," agreed Killian. He tucked his stump beneath the jacket again, wincing. "Well, rest assured, darling, you're quite safe from that git now. Even if he was still in possession of a magic bean, he would have had to use it to flee Neverland."

"Neverland?" She sounded both surprised and amused.

"Aye. Damn fool was trying to escape in a row boat, last I saw him."

"That'll never work," she scoffed.

"Indeed not."

Killian couldn't bring himself to tell her that he would never regret the trade that had enabled him to bring Emma back.

Neither did he want to impart that the other pirate believed himself to be her rightful owner now. Again. He grimaced through another round of shivers, then said,

"Well, in terms of loyalty, you unquestionably have mine. Wholeheartedly. There will never be a vessel your equal, not even the ludicrous fire-eating contraptions in our adoptive home. And let me also add: I got the raw end of that deal. One measly bean is hardly worth even one of your lovely sails."

Marvel grinned, pleased with his compliments. "Why, thank you, darling. But there's no need for flattery. I already know my true value."

She winked at him. Then, a low rumble in the distance drew her attention to the horizon, and she stood. "I should take a sounding. Are you comfortable enough?"

"I'll survive," Killian replied ironically. There was no guarantee of that, even if they did hand the potion over. Eris herself had admitted to her unpredictability. And if he was in rough shape now, he couldn't imagine his state after several more hours had elapsed.

Unaware of his pessimism, Marvel scurried away to attend to the business of sailing. And, left to his own devices, Killian could finally get to work on the plan that had been formulating in his mind ever since the first moment his jacket had been laid upon him. Poor Marvel - her act of compassion would turn out to be her downfall.

Of course, wiggling his sore and heavily bandaged stump into the pocket containing his rescued hook was far more easily imagined than accomplished. Especially without drawing attention to himself. Killian disguised his movements as attempts to seek a more comfortable position, complete with winces that were only slightly exaggerated. He eventually had to take the leather between his teeth in order to keep it from sliding down his shoulders; he also trapped the other edge between tied hand and torso. And then it was simply a matter of inching his way inside.

The pocket was just wide enough to accommodate the bandages, although the top layers were pulled back as his wrist slipped deeper. Through the lining, Killian could feel the hook's outline against his ribs and used that as a guide. He would have to snag either tip or locking mechanism under a strip of linen and then draw it out without dislodging it.

Another booming rumble shook the mast; Killian was a tiny bit grateful that he couldn't see the volcano ahead. It was sure to be an awesome and terrifying sight. The ash polluting the air had grown thicker, flakes and tendrils of char curling on the breeze, coating the deck, staining the sails. He thought of the toxic gases mentioned by Eris: how was one to know where the boundary lay? Whether the window of respite had truly begun? When they sailed past the point of no return and collapsed into a choking, dying heap?

The hook shifted in his pocket, resisting Killian's efforts to catch it with a stray strip of linen. He cursed softly and pressed harder than he wanted to. A shock of pain from the aggravated nerves nearly convinced him to give up. The steel tip was positioned perilously close to the lacerated wrist, and he cringed at the thought of puncturing the throbbing flesh. But with extreme caution, he managed to tilt the weapon by degrees until it posed less of a threat, and then he inched his stump forward. Success. He could feel one strip of bandage tighten around his arm as the hook was pushed beneath. Killian added a slight twist of the wrist before attempting to withdraw it, hoping to add security to the captive hook.

Pulling his stump from the pocket was just as difficult and painful a process, especially once the steel neared the seam. Afraid it would catch and be pushed out of the bandage, Killian twisted his arm further, which set off explosions of pain in the old spear wound through his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move slowly and patiently while maneuvering past the pocket's opening.

His caution was rewarded. The hook slipped through the hole, one intense moment of pain occurring when the tip dug into his inner wrist, but he was fairly certain it did not break the skin. With a discreet glance at Marvel to be sure she was still distracted, Killian removed the rest of his arm from the pocket, hook dangling obediently from the wrapping. Casually, the pirate adjusted his arm until it disappeared beneath the jacket, then bent his elbow and rested his stump across his abdomen. There was just enough give in the rope securing his hand that he could reach up and retrieve the prized weapon. Even tied into a fist, even with a sore-as-hell wrist, his hand was strong and flexible, and he had no difficulty gripping the base of the hook between thumb and palm.

Killian let his head fall back and relaxed his shoulder, releasing a sigh of relief. More struggle lay ahead, but he believed the hardest part was over. Or… the hardest part of freeing himself, at least. What came after would be a different story.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Marvel's tasks kept her occupied for at least a quarter of an hour more, during which time Killian managed to free his hand and begin the process of untying his torso. It was slow going: he was attempting to twist the ropes in their coils around the mast with the goal of dragging the knots within reach. He had to watch Marvel carefully during the process to be sure she didn't notice. Once the hook finally contacted the mass of knots and pulled them close, it didn't take long to untie them. Now for his feet.

On the pretense of relieving pressure against his back, Killian painfully drew his knees up, gasping once as he felt the abdominal wound split deeper within him. Turning sideways, he curled into a ball. He made sure to keep up the appearance of being tied and restricted in his movement, but knew he had to work quickly, as Marvel would more than likely come to check on him soon. Reaching back, he just managed to grasp the knot between his ankles, though the position stretched the lacerations on his back to an intolerable gape. By holding his breath, he endured the anguish long enough to untie his feet… then he fell back against the pillow, resting for real this time. He felt blood trickling down his back, seeping through the bandage on his belly, and he cursed again. He was making things worse; he might not survive a trip back to Emma.

But he couldn't allow himself to think that way. He was doing the right thing; surely Zeus would understand, and thank him for that? Even if it didn't merit another miraculous return from the Underworld, perhaps he would grant Killian the time needed to get home against all odds.

Marvel was coming. He could hear her footsteps on the deck. Killian surreptitiously adjusted the jacket to cover torso and ankles as he added intensity to his quaking. He fixed her with a wan smile, shivering,

"That blanket still on offer, love?"

Marvel stopped short, obviously worried. "You're still cold, Dear One? But it's sweltering."

Killian shrugged pitifully, wincing. "Must be shock. I'm sorry to inconvenience you."

Her gaze softened, pity and concern warring on her face. "It's no inconvenience. I'll be back in a tick."

As soon has she had disappeared below, Killian vaulted to his feet. This time, he was prepared for the world to spin, though it didn't make it much easier to stay upright. He crashed shoulder-first into the mast and stood there panting, biting back the pained cry that would surely give the game away.

He had moments at most. Taking a huge breath that tore at the Excalibur wound, he pushed off the mast and staggered drunkenly toward the hatch. His ankle would barely take his weight, and every drag of his leg forward aggravated the reestablished hook furrow in his thigh. Somehow, he made it to his destination, where he practically toppled forward to grab the cover. With substantial effort, he heaved it closed. This time, the yell of pain was uncontainable, and he didn't even try to muffle it. He fastened the padlock with trembling fingers, hearing Marvel calling up at him in confusion.

Killian lurched up the steps to the quarterdeck and collapsed over the second hatch that led to his cabin, effectively trapping Marvel below deck. Watching droplets of blood painting the wood beneath him and feeling very much detached from his own body, Killian panted and fought to hold on to consciousness. The expected hammering on the hatch cover was providing a contrasting rhythm to the percussion in his brain. Killian growled another breath and then lunged in the general direction of the helm. This time, his ankle did give out, and he dropped with a jarring crash to the deck. Half-crawling, half-staggering, he clawed his way to his target, now sobbing breaths as pure agony accompanied each movement.

A muddled Killian found himself at the wheel and had to take a moment to remember what he was doing there. Blood obscured his vision, but he still saw lightning illuminating the smoking mountain, the ruddy glow of lava crawling a path to the sea. Killian grasped a spoke with an aching hand and then pulled as hard as he could. The wheel spun with a yell that sounded suspiciously like his own. The ship tilted in a dramatic turn that almost knocked Killian off his feet. He hung on grimly, the vessel groaned, the volcano grumbled its displeasure as it rotated along the compass rose. There it was at their 2 o'clock. Now 3. Its belch of ash smudged their 4 o'clock. Killian laughed hoarsely.

"Are you watching this, Zeus?" he called, his voice breaking with strain. "I'm doing my bit; will you step up and do yours?"

A crack of thunder drew another chuckle from the raving pirate. He checked their position. The sullen island was now firmly at their back, and he straightened the wheel with a flourish that flicked blood in all directions.

Killian wouldn't last much longer, and he knew it. Even though the ship had settled into her new course and only swayed predictably now, Killian couldn't keep himself upright. He would tilt one way, overcorrect, and nearly topple the other, cursing all the while and clinging weakly to the wheel. He had to sit. Or lie down; that would be preferable. One problem, though: he couldn't make any sense of the scene in front of him. There should be a… thing. A something that would help him to secure the other thing. Killian's head swung back and forth, his gaze unsteady as he sought this mysterious thing in vain.

Killian's ankle failed again. He fell to the deck with a thud and a grunt. Well, fine. He would just have to pilot the vessel from down here. Except… he couldn't sit up at present. He got as far as an elbow before getting stuck. Neither arm would take his weight. Stretching one way compressed unstable ribs, the other way widened the tunnel through his gut. His arm slipped on blood and he flopped to the boards, spent.

The ship would just have to steer herself. At least now they were headed away from the murder mountain…


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Something had awakened Killian from his less-than-restful slumber, and it took him a long moment to work out what it was. As he blinked up at the sky above, his eyes were automatically drawn toward approaching movement.

"Bloody hell." He pushed himself stiffly - but successfully - up onto his knees. "Marvel. How did you get up here?"

The human ship climbed the stairs, carrying the blanket off of his bunk and looking both self-satisfied and annoyed. Killian launched himself at the wheel and managed to grab on despite screams of protest from his wrist.

"I figured out how to magically transport myself." She slowed, watching as he pulled himself to his feet with a snarl of pain.

"That's impossible," he wheezed. "Eris said-"

"One cannot use magic to reach the island. Apparently, short distances are allowed."

Now standing, favoring his fractured ankle, Killian took slow breaths against surging nausea. The short nap had not alleviated his vertigo in the slightest. He focused on the horizon and noticed the volcano skulking into his peripheral vision. Scowling, he adjusted the wheel and nearly toppled over as a result. Marvel crept closer. Killian felt for his hook, but it was nowhere to be found. Damn.

"Please, dear Captain… please stop fighting me. We're so close, and then we can return home, and you can be with your Emma and forget all of this. Let the gods take care of their own. Please."

"Stay back, Temptress. I don't want to hurt you." Killian tried to center his weight, preparing for a scuffle. But none came. In a flash, Marvel was behind him, drilling magic for which he had no defense into his brain. One final sob of frustration and Killian was out cold again.

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No ropes this time. Killian was all ready to celebrate, but he couldn't. Couldn't move at all, in fact, except for his eyes. They snapped open just as the traitorous Marvel knelt down beside him, the looming volcano making a frightful backdrop to her apologetic expression.

They were both still on the quarterdeck. Killian reclined against a nest of pillows - probably the whole stash aboard the ship - in the very stern. His head was raised enough to be able to see what was going on, and with a blanket tucked carefully over him, he found he was actually quite comfortable. Apart from breathing, his absolute stillness took much of the strain off the majority of his injuries. They still ached, with an occasional twinge as the curse continued to deepen them, and his back burned from lying directly against it, but that couldn't be helped. And he was most accustomed to that pain, anyway.

"What've you done?" hissed Killian, surprised and relived that he could at least still talk. Marvel brushed some hair back from his forehead, then rested her hand over the swollen bump on his temple.

"I found your stash of squid ink. Actually, technically speaking, it was never hidden in the first place. Not from me."

Killian was about to reply when the tingle of magic crawled through his scalp. He bit his tongue, wishing desperately to squirm away from the sting. She lacked the practiced finesse of his Swan… but slowly, the swelling subsided and the cut sealed itself. The headache remained, but much abated, and most of the dizziness and fog had lifted. Momentarily, a weary Marvel straightened, her smile placid.

"How is that?"

Killian opened his eyes. "Marvelous."

A hint of the usual playfulness appeared in her expression, but fled an instant later. "Let me try…"

She put on a solemn frown and moved lower, toward the source of greatest pain and hemorrhage: his abdomen. Her faltering powers flicked aside bandage and shirt, revealing the gash. Now uncontained, blood trickled down his stomach in pulsing spurts entirely in sync with the necessary motions of breathing. Inhale, the gape widened and spewed more blood; exhale, it collapsed on itself and stifled the stream. Marvel did not think twice about placing her hands over the wound, blood and all.

At first, the searing magic seemed to be working. An uncomfortable Killian could feel the damage reversing from the inside out, severed muscle and fascia knitting together before skin began to do likewise. Sweat broke out on Marvel's forehead as she struggled to direct the unfamiliar ability, to channel it into much-needed assistance for her captain. But just as the pain began to fade… the curse's invisible knife sliced through the success, tearing and gouging, splitting flesh into a deeper rift than before. Killian groaned a curse as his anguish roared back. The same or worse, it hardly mattered. Mumbling epithets herself, Marvel replaced his bandage.

"I'm sorry, darling. It seems the curse must be broken before healing its effects is possible. I suggest we don't attempt it again until then."

Killian winced and closed his eyes in miserable agreement. He had no wish to repeat that excruciating failure anytime soon. Sighing, Marvel got up to return to the helm.

"Please, Marvel," began Killian, intent on trying one last time. Knowing it was useless. "Don't do this."

Predictably, his plea fell on deaf ears. It was then that he realized the volcano had been silent that whole time. Killian swept his gaze over the island: a gentle wisp of steam continued to rise from the summit, but the mountain was still. Free of lava and ash.

Resetting.

Suddenly, Marvel threw out her hands, and the sails were furled in the blink of an eye, the anchor cast over the side with a splash. The ship slowed, trailing the anchor along the sea floor until its weight was enough to stop all momentum.

"This is as close as I dare go," admitted Marvel, "without knowledge of the seabed surrounding the island."

"Agreed," Killian said. "Wouldn't do to damage your previous incarnation."

Marvel turned back and studied him for a moment. Her anxious determination was palpable even from the other side of the deck. "Wait here. Rest. I will retrieve the potion and we can be on our way home."

Killian's jaw tightened at the thought of her facing the island's perils alone. "Hold on, love; can we discuss this?"

"There's nothing to discuss. You'll never change my mind."

He sighed. "Then let me come along. I promise not to try and stop you. My only concern would be your protection."

She watched his face for several heartbeats, as if trying to discern his sincerity. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, my love. Even if you are telling the truth… you can't be of any assistance until the squid ink wears off. I'll be fine."

Frustration and fear weighed heavily on his chest, but there was nothing he could do about it. Swallowing back further protests, he met her gaze squarely. "Be careful."

She nodded. Then moved closer, crouched, brushed a hand along his tense jaw.

He watched her descend to the main deck, position the rowboat over the side, and climb in. The last he saw of her was the flash of auburn that matched perfectly the accent stripe along the ship's hull.

Killian gave voice to a string of curses that didn't do anything to make him feel better. There was a very long wait ahead. And with nothing to do but lie there and let his imagination run wild, that wait was likely to be extremely tense.

He wondered how Marvel would go about finding the potion. According to Eris, the island contained other treasures - who knew what forms those others would take? What if there were more than one potion? Would she have to steal them all? Would Eris, in turn, relieve them of all of Zeus' magical items and use them for her own nefarious purposes?

Even from this distance, the volcano looked huge. How could Marvel possibly scour the whole thing in less than three hours, not to mention leave them enough time to escape afterward? And, come to think of it, did they even have three hours left? He had, admittedly, delayed their arrival by turning the ship... and had been unconscious for the majority of their overall journey. He had no clue.

The more Killian thought about it, the less he believed in their chances of survival. There was no way. To have had any hope, they should have arrived _before_ the eruption stopped, necessitating a wait so that they could travel with the boundary as it receded.

Well, he had fought all along to prevent Eris from winning. Succumbing to the volcano was one way of assuring that. But he had been hoping that at least Marvel could make it out. To tell the tale, bid farewell for him… to give them all that memorial space they'd had the first time. Now they would never know, never hear, never have.

Killian's melancholy gradually gave way to anger. In recent years, he had learned to control his propensity toward rage: heroes didn't let their temper get the best of them. But right now, it was either anger or fear… and so Killian chose anger. He let it surge through him, a boiling wave that scorched with the utter need to move. To tear. To destroy. But yearning muscles were held captive by magic, and Killian lay motionless. Hissing breaths quickened through clenched teeth. And finally, he cut loose with a howl.

"Zeus! This is your bloody island; I'd wager my remaining hand that you can hear me. Show yourself!"

No response. Killian growled, still straining ineffectually against magical bonds. "Zeus, damn you! Come out, you cowardly bastard!"

To be honest, he wasn't expecting the god to actually show up. But suddenly, inexplicably, there he was, complete with white robe and serene smile even as he chastised the pirate lying at his feet.

"Killian Jones, that is not how you address an all-powerful being, particularly one who broke all the rules to send you back to the land of the living not three years ago."

"I couldn't care less about propriety right now," snarled Killian. It hadn't taken long for his surprise to dissolve back into wrath. "If I'm to die today as a result of holy tampering, then I deserve some assurances from you."

Zeus remained calm, amused even, and Killian seethed.

"Such as?"

Killian swallowed. He was making this up as he went along. "First of all, that your wayward subject Eris won't be allowed to punish the ones I love for my failure."

"And?"

Scowling, noting that the god had not yet agreed, Killian added,

"That you'll regain the control you're meant to have over her. She may lose today, but I can guarantee you she won't give up. And I don't believe it's too much for we pathetic mortals to ask that you do your _bloody_ job and keep her in check."

Killian's scathing glare was met with aggravating placidity; he could scream with the frustration building within him. And then the god spoke. And his words did nothing to soothe the pirate's anger.

"So you think you know better than the gods, do you? You see the big picture? You know how all the lines entangle, what will happen when, what's best for all of mankind?"

"Of course not, but any fool could guess that allowing the goddess of chaos free reign-"

"She has nothing of the sort."

Killian rolled his eyes; he begged to differ. "At the very least, she will do, when she has in her possession this bloody potion of yours."

"Have a little faith, Killian. Do you truly think I would make something so dangerous and leave it lying around for her to find?"

Killian released a huff of annoyance. "So there is no potion? This damn voyage was for naught?"

"No, there is a potion, doing exactly what Eris described. What she doesn't know is how it will affect _her_ , if she uses it as she intends."

"Bloody hell," snapped Killian. "Out with it, then. What will happen?"

"Simply put, the potion prevents any external magic from enacting on the user. She's correct that her own intrinsic powers would be unaffected. What she doesn't know, though, is this: the same powerful magic used to create her out of the very entropy she craves is still in play just to keep her in existence. So by consuming the potion…"

"She reverts back to the chaos whence she came." A shiver of understanding tingled down Killian's spine as he finished the thought, and his scowl deepened. "So you've been in favor of our success all along."

Zeus merely donned his infuriating smile, and Killian wanted to punch him that much more.

"Damn it, you couldn't have told us this earlier?"

"I'm a very busy deity, Killian. There's always one crisis or another. Even now, the best I can offer is verbal guidance; my might is currently occupied elsewhere." He had the nerve to wink then, raising Killian's blood pressure into a most unhealthy zone. "Besides, there is a certain amount of free will involved."

"Like hell there is," Killian muttered. But he chose to focus on the earlier statement. "All right then. Guidance. What other pearls of belated wisdom would you care to impart? Any advice how to get out of this bloody trap of yours?"

"Sadly, your own counsel is best in that regard."

"Run like hell?"

With a tolerant nod, Zeus added,

"I've ensured that your polymorphous companion has had no trouble finding the potion. She is on her way back as we speak."

"Tell me truly: do you believe we have a chance?"

"More than any other mortal in your place," came the less-than-reassuring reply. Followed by, "It won't be easy, though."

"And you can't just magic us to the boundary, or delay the eruption to give us more time?"

"No, as I said: verbal advice only."

Killian cursed without thought of whose presence he shared; Zeus took it all without blinking. Then he said,

"One last thing, and then my attention is required elsewhere. Should you choose to use the potion yourself, one mouthful will suffice. But keep in mind the caveat: immunity to magic. The choice is yours. And with that, I bid you good fortune."

Killian was still hung up on the 'use the potion on himself' business; he barely noticed Zeus shimmer into a sunbeam and take his leave.

Immunity to magic. Including… dark magic, presumably. Curses. It would break Eris' curse. Of course. The goddess had even hinted at such a move. But then… no magical healing? Should his wounds remain, he'd likely be forced to take the long path to recovery. Still, it was a small price to pay to give himself the best chance of surviving all the way home.

Only moments later, Marvel was hoisting the rowboat up to the gunwale, calling excitedly,

"Dearest! My dear! I found the potion, and… and Zeus himself appeared to me! I actually spoke with him, and it was real, I swear it!" She hurdled the rail and paused only briefly to secure the boat, then she was leaping up the stairs toward her captain. "You must believe me!"

"I do, darling; he came to me as well."

Her grin dazzled against the darkening sky. "Marvelous! So, then, you know that it will do no harm to surrender-"

"Aye, but to have any chance of that, we have to sail as we've never sailed before. Cast off quickly, love; turn her about. Full sail."

Eyes wide, Marvel caught the urgency in his tone and spun to face the rest of the ship. Her magic made quick work of the preparations, and just as a gentle wind pushed against the sails - blowing them toward the volcano until Marvel could complete a turn - a massive explosion sounded deep underground. The earthquake was visible in the dancing of the ocean, uncoordinated choppiness that was unlike tide or windblown wave. Marvel squeaked a gasp and yanked the wheel as hard as she could. Unable to brace himself, Killian closed his eyes and prepared to be tossed against the gunwale in response to the ship's tight turn. But Marvel somehow had the foresight and concentration to grab hold of him with her magic, and he was prevented further injury.

Just before the volcano was lost from view, Killian saw the first plume of ash burst from its summit, followed by tree-sized rock meteors that plummeted down the sides of the mountain. As they struck the ground, they initiated thundering landslides, which rapidly increased in both velocity and volume. The sight disappeared behind the Jolly Roger's hull, but Killian knew it was only a matter of time before the displaced earth plunged into the sea and sent enormous waves racing toward them. He couldn't lie here any longer; he had to be up and helping in whatever small way he could.

"Marvel, the potion!" he called. She risked a terrified glance back at him, and her eyes widened even further at whatever new terrors the volcano was performing. "Now, love! You need my help!"

Frantically, Marvel froze the wheel in place and skidded to Killian's side, pulling a large crystal phial from her pocket as she went. "What-"

"Bottoms up," he winked, the swagger only partially successful at masking his own fear. But she understood his meaning and held the vessel to his lips.

The bucking of the ship meant that just as much of the liquid went up his nose and down his chin as into his mouth. Gamely, Killian held his breath until a full mouthful had collected, then swallowed, and only then allowed himself to sputter and spray the burn away. Almost instantly, the squid ink's hold released; Killian rolled onto his side, gagging and wiping his face while desperately trying to push himself to his feet. Marvel corked and secured the phial.

"Careful, dearest, mind your-"

A deafening roar from their stern drowned out her plea, and both heads turned as one to stare at the plume of fire now spewing forth. Killian grasped the gunwale and heaved, heedless of the ripping sensations in a myriad of wounds tugged by the flailing. Now on his feet, he spun to face the helm. Marvel reached out and gripped his wrist to offer assistance.

Killian gritted his teeth as he limped to the wheel. "Now would be a good time to have my hook back," he hissed, pain and stress altering his voice into something harsh.

"Done." Marvel waved her hand, and his brace with hook attached magically affixed itself to his stump. He allowed himself one wince at the new pressure on the bandaged wound, then he took the wheel in hand and hook and pushed the anguish to the back of his mind.

Obviously, the curse's effects remained, even if the curse itself had been broken.

"Can you magically provide us with some wind?" Killian had to shout to be heard over the continuous rumble from the mountain at their backs. Marvel bit her lip but nodded.

"I'll try."

She stretched her hands out toward the sails, and soon, a tentative breeze stirred in that direction, enough of a concerted effort in contrast to the wildly shifting natural air to be a definitive result of her powers. But before either of them could react, the first of the tidal waves buffeted the Jolly Roger, stern first, and both passengers were hurled roughly forward. Killian crashed painfully into the wheel, breath leaving him in a grunt; Marvel went flying and landed on her hands and knees just as they crested the wave. Killian wrapped his left arm around the wheel and held out his hand, calling,

"Hold on!"

Marvel scrambled to her feet. The deck lurched again and she almost fell, but somehow, she managed to stumble back to Killian's side and grip his hand tightly. She glanced back, grabbed the wheel with her other hand, and yelled,

"Another wave!"

They were jolted again, both clutching desperately to the wheel as the ship tilted one way, then the other.

"I'll tether us!" cried Marvel. In a flash, she had ropes secured around their waists and attached to the wildly plunging ship. Killian battled the wheel with all his might. He had to keep the waves from striking them broadside, or they might capsize. Marvel held on with one hand, but focused most of her attention on producing the steady wind they needed in order to escape.

Ash continually poured into the sky with such force and speed that it had no trouble outpacing the harried vessel. Looking like murderous storm clouds, the roiling black mass blanketed the afternoon sun. The deck of the ship grew darker with each passing moment. All color drained away until they were left only with shades of heavy gray. The air grew thick and acrid with fine particles; it burned and coated their airways, sending them both into periodic bouts of hacking.

More explosions sounded above the steady roar of the eruption, and soon, the snow of ash was joined by tendrils of ember that stung exposed skin. The dying fires were not quite strong enough to take root among the suffocating layer of ash on their clothing, the wood, the canvas and rope. Not yet, anyway.

After countless trips up and down violent tidal waves, the Jolly Roger settled into the more familiar tossing that accompanied any patch of rough weather. Feeling the heat at his back, Killian risked a glance back at the volcano. It had only increased its fury, spewing lava and lahars right along with the impossible amounts of ash that was starting to obscure the deadly mountain. He caught Marvel watching him uncertainly. Her magic flowed steadily into a stiff wind now assisted by haphazard gusts of displaced mountainside air. Killian flashed a maniacal grin.

"Just like outrunning the curse! Right, love?"

Her answering smile was strained, reserved. "I remember, Captain."

"Hey! We can do this!" He shuddered through a bout of coughing before adding, "The best ship in all the realms, the best crew a man could ask for…"

"And the best captain," she added, a bit more brightly. He winked.

"Goes without saying."

Marvel edged closer to him, still keeping the majority of her focus on the production of lifesaving wind. But she rested a hand over his, where it held the wheel in a death grip.

"We'll make it, won't we, Captain?"

"Aye, love. No question: we're going to make it."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

They weren't going to make it.

Nearly an hour into their escape, Killian was dead on his feet, shaking with exhaustion and pain. The volcanic roar was dulled by distance and debris. Sparks and projectiles no longer rained around them. Just the ever-present dusting of ash, now inches thick on every surface. The whole world was a solid haze of gray, except for one smudge of dirty white in the distance which became their only hope for the survival of the greater vicinity. Behind them, an impenetrable wall of black that could only signal their destruction. And it was gaining.

The same wind that drove the toxic cloud made magical assistance moot: as hard as Marvel tried, she could not increase their speed by even one knot. So she traded off turns at the helm, allowing Killian precious periods collapsed on the gritty floorboards until desperation once again drove her below in search of anything they could cast overboard to lighten the ship. Numb, Killian would then drag himself back to his unsteady stance at the wheel, watching the light fade, thinking of all the things he wished to tell Emma that he would never have the chance to express.

Marvel appeared at his side, and he couldn't remember if she had teleported or walked without his cognition of the fact. Her whitewashed face was streaked with sweat. She held up a canteen of water, and he accepted the offering, grimacing at the taste of char, the grit scraping his mouth and throat.

"Sorry, love," he gasped as he returned the canteen. "If I hadn't fought you, hadn't turned us around like a bloody imbecile-"

Marvel lay a finger over his lips. "You were only acting as you must. I can't fault you for that."

Killian closed his eyes a moment, swaying on his feet. His pallor had little to do with his coat of ash. "Well, my dear Marvel. Appears as if we'll be doing this properly. A ship and her captain, going down together."

The ship incarnate wore a watery smile as she stroked her hand along his cheek. But instead of the expected fear and desperation in her eyes, Killian saw only sad resolve.

"Maybe. But not today."

Killian spread his hand over hers, pulling her closer, striving to project reassurance. Acceptance. Peace.

"It's okay, love. We've done all we could. Perhaps it's time to stop fighting."

"We haven't, though." Marvel edged back in order to look him squarely in the eyes. "Her Holiness Eris selected this ship for a reason. But right now, she's just an ordinary ship."

Killian cocked his head; he was too worn out to decipher what she meant. "What are you saying?"

She mimicked his own false bravado then. "Come now, dear; surely you've noticed. A certain sluggishness, a lack of eagerness, responsiveness? We're traveling at top speed, yet you know we've gone much faster in the past."

The pirate stared at his ship turned human. She was right; he had noticed these things, but had shrugged them off as figments of an overtired mind. "Still don't follow, I'm afraid."

It was then that a shimmer of refraction, vivid against the monochromatic background, caught his attention. Marvel clutched Zeus' potion against her torso. "The enchantment. The one that makes us the fastest ship in the realms. It's been drained from the wood. Channeled into another vessel: me. It's how Brizo gathered my soul into human form. It's how I'm here, with magic of my own. And without it, the ship is mere wood. Just… ordinary. We can't outrun anything, not like this."

Watching her fiddle with the phial, Killian's mind struggled to compute. Adding 1 and 1 and getting 5. "As I said, then..."

She flicked the lid from the potion. And Killian was struck hard with the realization. What she had concluded who-knew-how-long ago. What she intended to do. What he couldn't fathom allowing, even if she were willing. Cold prickles assaulted his skin, from toes to scalp; his face felt tingly, then numb.

"Marvel, no," he rasped hoarsely, the wheel forgotten, the danger insignificant. He stepped forward, holding out his hand; she moved back in unison. "Give it here. We'll figure something else out. Please, love. You don't have to… I don't what you t… Please."

The auburn-haired maiden stayed just out of reach. If she, for an instant, reconsidered, the forgivable waver was quashed by the sight of black death looming nearer, an oily cloak posed to swallow her beloved captain where he stood. Killian's arm shook with fatigue, but still he held it outstretched in a desperate reach. He stumbled as his ankle buckled beneath him. Marvel winced in sympathy.

"Dearest, the wheel…"

Killian just shook his head, focused on the potion. "Don't."

Sensing his reckless urge to lunge, Marvel poofed out of existence, reappearing behind him, immediately in front of the stern railing. The pirate growled in dismay, wasting precious seconds searching the rest of the ship before sensing her behind him. He whirled as fast as he was able, only to witness the human ship downing a second mouthful of potion. His breath caught in his throat. Time slowed with that horrible feeling of watching an impending disaster and being unable to prevent it. Wearing a sad smile, Marvel surged forward and threw her arms around him, already shimmering a brilliant white.

Marvel squeezed gently, ducking her head to nestle her temple against his chest. Killian drew a shuddering breath and returned the embrace. As he rested his cheek on top of her head, a tear trailed from the corner of his eye, past laugh lines and ginger whiskers to land unnoticed in the russet locks below. A wisp of air, a shiver, and Killian suddenly found that she was no longer quite solid in his arms. Marvel raised her head, her own face tracked with tears as well, stepping back despite futile efforts to hold her close. Her aura was intensifying, bits of her sparking off into the ether. The phial slipped from her fingers and crashed to the deck. Killian just stared, helpless and mesmerized. Marvel's expression stilled into serenity, and as her outline faded, she murmured,

"Take us home. My Captain."

Like the instant a flame reaches the end of a fuse, the magic holding her corporeal exploded outward. White fire rained down on the Jolly Roger, kicking up a gale that drove back even the black wall, collecting ash into a swirling blizzard. Pelting sails, lines, and planks with incandescent power. The ship shivered and bucked in joyful welcome of her wayward spirit, her silhouette impossibly bright against the surrounding gloom. In a heartbeat, the light was gone, vacuumed up as if it had never been, and the Jolly Roger leapt forward, enchanted once again.

Tossed to his knees by the sudden acceleration, Killian wiped his eyes and searched for the will to rise. The ship beneath him surged forward again; he landed on hand and hook, barely feeling the resulting pain that jolted up both arms. There on the floorboards, dusted with ash and nestled in a pile of discarded clothing, flickered Marvel's earring. Laughing a sob, Killian snatched up the jewel and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. Then he staggered to his feet and flung himself toward the wheel.

Volcanic death cloud be damned: this ship and her captain were going home.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: A bit more borrowed dialogue here. Thanks to the writers of Doctor Who (Episode 6.4 "The Doctor's Wife," in case anyone hasn't seen it!)**

Chapter 27

Killian was unaware of the point at which the Jolly Roger sailed out of the volcano's reach and beyond Zeus' invisible shielding. He stood frozen in a daze, mind completely disengaged, sailing by instinct alone. Oblivious to the lightening of the sky, the clearing of the air, the softening of all ambient noise. Something buoyed him up, preventing his logical collapse, and were he asked, the weary captain would probably have credited the living spirit of the vessel beneath his feet. And maybe that wouldn't have been so far from the truth.

But he blinked, and he was somehow still standing, and somehow beyond the threat of death, and he could feel nothing but an overwhelming exhaustion in every corner of his soul. He examined the ship stretched out before him, barely registering the beautiful rose-gold highlights cast by a late evening sun.

It should have come as no surprise when three beings materialized on deck just meters away. But Killian had forgotten all but his own name and the name of his ship, and he gawked through bloodshot, burning eyes.

"I knew you were the man for the job!" came the grating voice of a crowing Eris. Killian grimaced at the noise, which was just familiar enough to hammer vague awareness into his reluctant brain. The goddess stalked closer, trailed by her two shadows - bodyguards, worshippers, whoever. Killian knew she was after something, but couldn't remember what.

"Where is it?" she growled, holding out her hand impatiently. Killian responded with a slow blink, a clumsy shifting of his weight, noticeably out of sync with the gentle rocking of the deck.

"Bugger off," said the pirate thickly. His tongue was as slow to react as the rest of him. Uncoordinated. Raging, Eris began to close the remaining distance between them. Then she spotted the crystal phial, tipped sideways on the deck, having rolled almost the whole way to the gunwale. She hissed as she waved her hand. The vessel appeared in her grip and she shook it lightly. A scant mouthful remained; the rest had flooded out onto the boards when the potion had fallen forgotten.

"Careless fool!" she screeched. Killian flinched instinctively as she flung a blast of furious magic in his direction. But it passed harmlessly around him, and he sighed a single, mirthless laugh.

"Immune," he reminded, unable to keep the taunt from his voice, tired as it was.

"Is that so?" Eris poofed the remaining distance, and when she reappeared, she drove a vicious fist into his middle, directly in the center of Excalibur's damage. Killian crumpled to the floor, too winded to even cry out, feeling himself being gored all over again despite the blade's absence.

Apparently deciding that he wasn't worthy of any more of her time, Eris turned away from the half-dead pirate. As she held up the phial, she gave it another wiggle and heard the small splash of its contents.

"You had better pray there's enough left for me to use. I may not be able to shield my handiwork from Zeus and his minions, but I can at least protect myself."

With that, she tipped the potion down her gullet. And though Killian was expecting the outburst that followed, he hadn't imagined it would be quite so dramatic. Curled into a ball, eyes streaming, still struggling for breath, Killian could just barely make out the goddess' agonized writhing that preceded a ripple, then a literal explosion of unrecognizable elements. The shards swirled, coalesced into a brief whirlwind, repelled each other and scattered to the heavens.

The clatter of phial against deck was followed by a stunned silence as Eris' henchmen tried to process what had just happened. They appeared more surprised than aggrieved. When one of them spotted the fresh droplets of potion on the wood, he began to back away nervously. The other quickly followed suit, and an instant later, they both vanished. Doubtless off to instigate their own brand of mischief, or perhaps find another deity to serve. And Killian lacked the strength to rise from his fetal position, much less celebrate their departure.

In his misery, Killian missed seeing the setting sun cast a brilliant red glow over wave and cloud, mimicking both the dried and fresh blood staining his bandages. He missed the first stirrings of a breeze caressing the sails above, the gentle pulse of the moving ship below. He even missed the first hint of a portal parting the waves ahead, but as the whirlpool gathered strength and its roar increased in volume, Killian finally collected the gumption to raise his head, discern what was happening, and realize that he should probably find something to hold on to.

With a quiet whimper, Killian made it as far as his knees. He was less than two meters from the wheel, but that distance felt like miles. The portal loomed closer, the ship began to quake, and Killian forced himself forward. One knee. Then the other. Brace clutched tightly against his abdomen. Hand not taking his weight; crumpling to elbow, forearm. Gasping. Waves increasing in intensity, the deck bobbing. Another knee dragged forward. The wheel just out of reach.

There came a violent splash as the bow split the final watery hill before beginning its descent into the tunnel. The dramatic tilting of the deck was enough to send Killian sliding the remaining few feet, and he caught the wheel with a grunt just before the portal's corkscrew path took hold. The Jolly Roger tumbled into the void, everything topsy-turvy for far too long, especially when each shudder sent a jolt of anguish through the pirate's battered body. But if Killian let loose with a cry of pain or two, it was impossible to hear over the deafening rush of water and magic all around.

The spiral tightened. Even for a seasoned sailor, the dizzying effect bordered on nauseating. And then, just when Killian's weight had tripled and he felt as if he would smash through the floor, the ship leapt from the portal's exit. Its crash back onto a residual churning wake tore the wheel from Killian's grasp. He toppled forward, stopping his fall with protesting arms, hissing as different kinds of pain raced up each one. But at least he was still on his knees and hadn't hit the deck yet again.

It was lighter here, midday at most. Killian's exhausted brain and eyes couldn't handle it. He knew he ought to take stock of their surroundings, look for danger, and check the ship for damage. He also knew it was hopeless to make even a token effort. So when a familiar figure appeared on board, he was hunched on his knees, clutching his abdomen and rubbing his eyes with a quivering hand, and he didn't notice. Not until that figure spoke.

"Killian? What the hell!"

The pirate managed a strained smile of relief, genuinely happy to hear the alarm in Emma's voice. It meant she was here. More than that, that she was okay. Killian's hand dropped to his thigh in a moment of rest while he worked on peeling his eyes open. By this time, despite her shock, Emma had teleported to his side, and as she crouched, he reached a feeble hand in her direction.

"Emma."

Emma surrounded his hand in hers, all the while taking in his appalling state. Countless wounds - a number haphazardly bandaged, others exposed - decorated his person, oozing blood. Some dripping it, if he moved a certain way. He hadn't appeared so close to keeling over since his rescue in the Underworld. Gaze slightly unfocused, butterfly bandages askew on his cheek and forehead, Killian fixed her with the saddest eyes she had seen in quite some time.

"Killian. What happened?"

At a loss where to start, Killian eventually just pulled her closer, intent on bringing her into his embrace and never letting go. Emma inched gingerly forward, apparently more concerned about protecting his injuries than he was. And then she stiffened.

"The hell?"

She sounded so thrown that for a moment, Killian forgot his physical complaints and quickly twisted to check what had her so rattled. When he saw, his pained groan was cut off before it could fully form. Frantic, he attempted to rise to his feet with muscles too injured to respond, reflexes dulled by exhaustion and blood loss. Swearing softly, Emma moved to help him; she knew it was useless to try and stop the mad scramble.

"Marvel," breathed Killian, listing wildly, clinging to Emma but shuffling forward all the same. "You're here."

The human figure shimmered before them, not quite solid. The faint outline of the stern railing could be seen intersecting her torso. She wore a melancholy smile, and when she spoke, the words had an ethereal echo about them that sent a chill right down Killian's spine.

" _We're_ here," she amended. "We made it, dearest."

Killian stopped a few paces away. With her hand a support behind his back, Emma halted as well. Killian's arm tensed, his fingers twitching as he wrestled against the urge to reach toward the apparition. Finally, both shoulders slumped, and he leaned more heavily against his wife.

"How long?" was his plea, in a voice so low and tremulous that it broke Emma's heart. Marvel's expression stiffened.

"Not long."

In the silence that followed, the waves caressing the hull became a heartbeat, the rippling of sails a repeated sigh. Ghost Marvel took a step forward, and Emma squeezed her husband's arm in solidarity.

"I only wanted to say-" began the ship's soul, but Killian cut her off.

"Don't. Please. Don't say goodbye."

Marvel's lips twitched in a sly smile. "Hello." Her next breath was half chuckle, half sob. "Hello, Captain. It's so very nice to meet you."

Killian echoed her strangled sort-of laugh and raised his hand in an automatic gesture. "Likewise, my darling."

Marvel drifted closer, taking steps that seemed unnecessary as no friction propelled her along the floorboards. She lifted her own hand - her right hand - and rested it gently atop his, feeling like nothing so much as the faintest of breaths against his palm, the lightest of flower petals. Killian bent to kiss it anyway. And then he found he could not let her go.

"Stay?" His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. "Can't you just… stay?"

"Oh, Captain." She brushed her free hand along his cheek, a mere wisp of sensation. "We've had such wonderful adventures. And we'll continue to do so. But this… this is when we _talked_."

Her ghostly thumb caught a teardrop before it fell. For an instant, her gaze turned to Emma's, and they shared a silent conversation, their mutual love for the man between them providing effortless understanding. Then Marvel gave Killian a soft smile.

"Go back to your big, beautiful house, with so many people to love and be loved by. Run around, be human. Live. And know that I will always be here when you need me, ever happy to see you, but rejoicing when I don't. Because I understand things better now. Sorrow and fear and shame… and joy." She withdrew her hands, placing one on her own chest and the other on his. "Human or not, this ship's heart belongs forever to her captain. And all I will ever want for you is total happiness. For the rest of your days."

Trembling, Killian tried to reach up, to place his hand over hers, but she seemed less solid than before, and his fingers grasped nothing. He gulped a breath and began,

"Marvel, I have to say… and… and I had hopes of…"

The words caught in his throat. He couldn't finish either thought. As tears flooded his eyes, Emma tightened her embrace and caught his lonely wandering hand. Marvel smiled softly through crystalline tears of her own.

"I know, my love."

And then she began to glimmer. Little stars of light flickering in a random dance within her image. She seemed to almost revel in the sensation, giggling as she watched and turned her palms this way and that. Then she met Killian's despairing gaze with one of excitement, almost glee.

"Watch this," she winked.

The stars drifted apart and multiplied as they slowly lifted higher into the breeze. The greater the number of lights, the fainter Marvel's image, and Killian was torn between watching the spectacle and keeping his eyes trained on the last glimpse he would have of the ship incarnate. For her part, Marvel kept her head thrown back, delighting in the beauty above.

Slowly the stars began to outcompete the cloud-covered sun in brightness. There were just so many, and each burned with a ferocity that made looking directly at it painful. Between one heartbeat and the next, Marvel's form dissolved into a final spattering of lights, which hastened to join the others, noticeably playful in their movements.

The constellations migrated toward the bulk of the ship, and reflexively, Killian pivoted to keep them in sight. He leaned almost his entire weight against Emma now, but for a moment, neither of them noticed. Then, with a blinding flash and a crack of displaced air, the stars raced to line every inch of the ship's perimeter. It only served to make the normally-beautiful Jolly Roger even more breathtaking.

Killian and Emma lost track of the amount of time they stood dazzled by the sight. But then, one by one, the twinkling lights started to flicker out. And as they faded, so did the remainder of Killian's strength. His knees buckled and he sank to the deck, pulling Emma down with him. Still watching the sparkles, silent tears tracking down his face, he allowed himself to settle back on his haunches. Emma knelt beside him and gently lay her head on his shoulder; after a moment, he rested his cheek against her.

They stayed that way until the lights winked out, the waves were water once more, the breeze no longer breath. And the Jolly Roger, marvel that she was, floated inert.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

After awhile, Emma's feet began an irritating prickle that prompted her to move off of them. Killian had gone so still that she was certain he'd fallen asleep against her. But when she slowly shifted, he lifted his head and winced. Stiffly, he turned tired eyes in her direction. She pressed a kiss against his cheek. As he lifted his hand to scrub at his face, she murmured,

"So, obviously, I missed a lot. But I think the most important question right now is why the hell I can't seem to heal you."

Killian released a long, shuddering breath that concluded with a groan. "Nothing to be done. Bloody magic." He tried shifting his weight off of his own complaining feet, but everything hurt and he was stuck. As Emma crawled around in front, intent on providing what assistance she could without injuring him further, she frowned.

"Then we should probably get you to a hospital."

"Aye." The word was more grunt than anything; with Emma's hands behind his elbows, he had managed to rise to bruised knees, but the prospect of standing was a bit too much to absorb. "At home. Loathe as I am to give myself over to that bastard Whale, at least he won't question my current state."

"That's over six hours away," Emma argued. But he did have a point; she didn't know _what_ cover story would explain the varied wounds plaguing him. She didn't even understand it herself.

"Plenty of time for a lovely nap, then." He nodded at her, indicating his readiness to try standing. He sure didn't _look_ ready, but Emma clambered to her feet, still clutching his upper arms behind the elbow. Killian held his breath and pulled his right leg forward in order to set his foot flat against the boards. Then, before he could think too much about it, he lunged to his feet, his growl becoming a string of expletives as every half-clotted cut once again split into a thousand points of raging fire. Emma stepped forward urgently and caught him before he could drop back down to the deck.

"Hold on, let's get you to bed," she grunted, struggling to prop him up as he panted and grimaced.

"I don't think-" he warned tightly, but her cloud of magic had already engulfed her. She was gone... and had failed to take him as intended. His support withdrawn, he collapsed back to his knees, yelping at the impact. Seconds later, Emma was back, her face a picture of confusion and apology.

"Should've clarified," winced Killian. "It's _all_ magic can't touch me. We'll have to take the long way."

Emma cursed and resumed her position before him. "Sorry. Really think you can make it? Maybe I could poof the bed up here. Or at least _a_ bed."

"Looks like rain shortly," he said, gathering the courage for another attempt. "And you may find the ship and her contents in the same predicament."

Not even trying to understand, Emma merely readied herself to provide as much strength and momentum as she could. She couldn't fathom walking all the way to the stairs - much less getting down them - if Killian couldn't even stand on his own.

But they managed somehow. The injured pirate was barely able to put any weight on his left foot; Emma added this to her quickly growing catalogue of what wounds she could see. She was rapidly losing track. Once past the first few steps, Killian seemed to lapse into a stoic numbness, where he detached from reality and simply became the task at hand. He stopped bothering to hold his head up, trusting Emma to guide him, and though he clutched her, his grip was tenuous at best. His breathing sounded labored, and not just due to the massive amounts of pain he was in. Looking back, Emma saw a trail of blood droplets leading the way they'd come, staining the hazy dust she'd begun to notice coating everything.

Finally in the captain's quarters, Killian scarcely reacted to his collapse onto the bunk beyond a tired whimper that grated on Emma's composure. It hurt her to see him in so much pain. And she feared for his safety. He was way too pale, cool to the touch apart from his face, which burned with fever but lacked the usual accompanying sweat. Emma brushed her thumb along what little unbruised cheek she could see, whispering,

"I don't know if you can wait for medical care, hon. You look awful."

"Lost the dashing at last?" he murmured back, eyes closed and sounding only half aware.

"Never," she assured him, wincing along with him as he gingerly shifted on the bed, seeking a non-existent position that didn't aggravate one of his injuries. She snapped her fingers, then scowled when the expected water glass did not materialize. Getting up with a sigh, she said, "I'll be right back."

When she had returned with the water and a couple of Advil, she needed to gently shake Killian awake to get him to take the pills and down the water. Then she spoke up.

"Not getting any cell service. If I wanna call the paramedics, I'll need to try and magic myself further inland."

Even in his state, Killian had the wherewithal to make a face that let her know exactly how he felt about that plan. But she persisted.

"Hey. You're not getting out of professional help this time. I don't care what story we have to make up; you're hurt too badly and bleeding too much to wait six more hours."

Killian didn't have it in him to put up any kind of fight. But he did plead,

"At least get us past the jurisdiction of that bloody Anna Jaques place. It'll be right back to the handcuffs, or more likely, the purple house this time."

Emma sighed, bringing up the area map that she had saved to her phone. "Looks like Portland is maybe an hour away. If you can stay conscious that long, we'll wait till then. But pass out on me, and I'm parking this boat at the nearest dock and calling an ambulance."

Killian's hackles didn't even rise at the deliberate baiting. He sank back against the pillow, mumbling,

"It's a deal."

Emma patted his shoulder and then set the water nearby. "Still gonna run into town for some things. Don't move a muscle."

"Careful." He didn't object to the trip; maybe another clue he was worse off than he seemed. Without further pause, Emma summoned her magic and vanished into the familiar cloud.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Seriously?"

Emma's voice upon her return had that too-loud, startling quality that always seemed to happen whenever Killian was overtired. What began as a quick intake of breath was interrupted by a wince and finished much more cautiously. Not opening his eyes, Killian murmured,

"Only resting a moment, love. I haven't passed out once, on my honor."

He felt the mattress give under Emma's weight. She laid a hand on his forehead.

"Good, but maybe what I should have said was, 'What the hell are you doing?'"

Killian dragged his eyes open then, going for innocent but coming across as pitiful more than anything. As if he didn't know, he followed her meaningful gaze to where his hand rested atop his unbandaged torso. A bloody rag covered the wound; an equally-stained needle and thread trailed from beneath, inert but within reach.

"Ah. Yes, meant to mention this. You've been so adamant about medical help; I just thought I'd save them a bit of trouble." He grimaced. "It's… harder than I remembered."

Emma rolled her eyes and nudged his hand out of the way so she could take a look. "Dammit, you're such an idiot sometimes."

She paled when she saw the wound - both its severity and its evocative location. Swearing softly, she pressed the rag back over the trickle of blood. For Killian's sake, she managed some of her usual teasing tone, but it was noticeably muted.

"Four. You managed to stab yourself four times, and you're telling me you didn't come close to passing out?"

His hand inched closer to hers as if he were contemplating lifting the rag to check for himself. "Surely there are more than four…"

"Four," she repeated sternly. "Out of, like, at least 15." Her tone softened then, but only by degrees. "They're going to want to take a look at that. Clean it out properly, make sure there's no internal injury. You can't just… sew it closed. Dummy."

Killian had no leg to stand on, and he knew it. Still… "You yourself said that I'm bleeding excessively. Why not at least do something about the biggest source of that bleeding?"

She just shook her head. "This isn't the Golden Age of Piracy anymore. People don't go around stitching themselves closed without anesthetic and pain meds and professionals who know what the hell they're doing." Glancing around the room, she saw the tell-tale trail of blood on the floor, smeared across the table, staining the chest of drawers against the wall. "What were you doing out of bed anyway? You could have hurt yourself. More."

His hand twitched, and if his wrist weren't throbbing so badly, he would have been scratching behind his ear in an instant. "I… er… had need of a… a chamber pot, and… well, once I was up, it wasn't that much more trouble to retrieve the first aid supplies."

She groaned. "I thought we threw out that antiquated stuff a long time ago."

So tired, Killian allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to close for a moment. "We did. Some, anyway. But you wouldn't believe the overpreparation Mister Smee insisted upon. He probably has stashes that I'm not even aware of."

"Well, I'll just have to ask him, then, and get rid of the rest. Seriously. No more self-sewing." She placed a hand on his brace. "Sorry, Killian. I should have thought of the… chamber pot thing."

"Not your fault, love."

Leaning sideways, she peeked over the side of the bed, in search of the item. "I'll go dispose of that, and then we'll talk. I brought you some stuff."

Killian's eyes snapped open as she got to her feet. "There's no need; I'll do it when I'm not so incapacitated."

"Killian, of all the times to be self-conscious-" She broke off as the pot's contents came into view. "Shit, babe; is that puke?"

Killian winced, both her lack of decorum and mention of the substance itself disturbing to him. "I started feeling ill shortly after you left. Didn't want to alarm you."

"There's blood in there."

"Is that so surprising?" he shot back without rancor. "At present, everything I touch has blood on it."

She tightened her jaw and refrained from pointing out that it looked like significantly more than incidental fingerprints or droplets from external injuries. "Are you feeling any better now?"

"A bit." His tone was unconvincing.

When Emma returned from emptying and cleaning the basin, Killian was dozing again, but roused easily enough. She once again took a seat on the bed next to him, plopping a plastic bag onto the quilt at her side.

"So. I called Whale. He gave me some suggestions, but of course, ultimately recommended that you get professional attention."

"Of course."

"He gave me a list of symptoms to watch out for to make sure you're not going into shock. Mental status being one of them. And aside from being a total dumbass, you seem stable enough in that regard."

Killian gave her a stiff sarcastic smirk, wincing when the motion pulled at cuts on his face.

"I rest my case," Emma said dryly. Then she continued. "They'll put you on antibiotics once we get there, so we're less worried about infection and more concerned with keeping you hydrated to replace all the blood you lost. He tried talking me through starting an IV, but screw that. Next best thing, apparently, is this."

She pulled a couple of bottles of colored liquid from the bag; similar to Gatorade, it seemed, which Killian now recognized. But the label was clinical, full of chemical names and percentages, and he gathered that she must have stopped by a pharmacy of some sort.

"We'll try to have you drink as much as you can; I got two flavors in case one is more palatable than the other."

Next, she drew out tape and cotton and bandages of all sizes, along with bandage scissors. "He wants me to try and cover as many of the actively bleeding areas as possible. Good news is, we can hold off on the deeper cleaning until you're on more heavy-duty pain meds. Speaking of which…"

She rummaged again in her sack and pulled out an amber pill bottle, giving it a shake. "He faxed in a phony prescription for these. They'll definitely have you feeling better in short order."

Killian nodded, grimaced, and then said,

"Seems there's no need for a stop in Portland, then. We're well-equipped for a voyage straight through to Storybrooke."

Emma cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't get your hopes up." She unscrewed the lid on one of the bottles and poured a small portion into his drinking glass. Then she dumped two pain pills into her palm. "Open."

Killian obeyed, allowing her to assist him with both pills and rehydration solution. The stuff was lukewarm and sickeningly sweet, and he almost gagged after the first swallow. But with concerted effort, he choked down half a glass before turning his face away. Emma stroked his hair as she set the glass aside.

"Thank God for Vicodin," she murmured. Then, grabbing a cotton pad and the bandage scissors, she gently peeled away the rag over Killian's Excalibur wound. She finished tying off the knot on the final suture he'd managed - may as well not let the effort go to waste - before snipping the thread and casting it aside. Killian shuddered and tried to remain as still as possible, knowing she would be as gentle as she could.

"So…" began Emma nonchalantly. "Wanna tell me why it looks like every single scar of yours has opened up?"

She poured a small amount of sterile saline over the gash, just to flush away the surface grime, and Killian drew a sharp breath. His voice was tight as he answered,

"That's the long and short of it, Swan. A curse which reopens old wounds, and a potion to cure it by shielding against magic of any sort."

Emma blotted away excess blood and saline and then pressed the cotton pad to his abdomen. "Holy crap. Whose curse?"

Just as she was tearing strips of surgical tape, preparing to secure the dressing in place, Killian hissed,

"Bloody hell."

Emma's eyes widened as he rolled frantically toward her, scrambling for the edge of the bed and then violently expelling the fluid from his stomach. She cursed and caught his shoulder, steadying him to be sure he didn't lurch right off. It was too late to reach for the chamber pot anyway; she just held his arm and stroked soothingly.

After far too long, far too many retches that spasmed agony throughout his impaled gut and bruised ribs, Killian collapsed onto his side, for now not even concerned with the pain that accompanied lying on his shoulder. He sobbed for breath, clutching at his abdomen, curling his legs inwards… anything to relieve the pain and continued nausea that left him violently quaking on the bed. Quietly, Emma grabbed a washcloth, wet it, and lay it across the back of his neck, murmuring reassurances.

"S-sorry…" he hissed, still grimacing, eyes still streaming. Emma squeezed his hand.

"Shhhh. Just rest. It's no big deal."

She continued trying to comfort him even as a million thoughts raced through her mind. First and foremost: they weren't trying _that_ again. Whether the vomiting had been caused by the Vicodin, or the distasteful drink, or simply a reaction to pain and stress, Emma wanted no part in provoking another episode. It might mean enlisting the help of those at Anna Jaques after all, and Killian could kill her later. But no more oral rehydration.

A few minutes later, the pirate seemed to have fallen into a fitful doze. Emma got up gingerly and set to work cleaning the mess, knowing that scent could be a powerful trigger for nausea. The color of the solution made it difficult to be certain whether more blood had been expelled, but Emma had a sickening feeling that it had.

Once the cabin was clean and a fresh washcloth placed on Killian's neck - he barely even stirred much beyond a single pained whimper - Emma teleported away. She needed to update Whale, and now that she knew where she was going, she would be gone only a few short moments.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Killian woke to another bout of nausea; one that had him lurching for the bedside again. Apart from a small amount of bile, nothing came up this time, but the uncontrollable spasms were agonizing and he felt like death. He didn't even notice Emma's absence until it was over and he lay moaning into his pillow, suffering through unbearable stabbing pains from his wounded abdomen, and to a lesser extent, his entire being. Shaking, he drew his hand up toward his face and used the heel of his palm to wipe tears from his eyes. And then Emma was back, and through his anguish, he still saw the sorrow and worry in her eyes.

"Hey. We're underway," she said softly as she came to kneel at his bedside. "You okay?"

He couldn't even summon the strength to lie, and shook his head once with a wince. Emma lay the back of her hand on his warm but clammy cheek.

"I'm sorry you're feeling so awful. Wish I could wave it all away."

Killian gulped back renewed queasiness, and Emma hastily dumped more supplies onto the floor by her knee. "Got some more stuff, though." She fiddled with a blue bottle for a minute, then held up a white tablet between thumb and forefinger. "This should help with the nausea. You don't even have to swallow it; it just dissolves under your tongue."

When he was sure he wouldn't spew as soon as he opened his mouth, Killian allowed her to position the medicine under his tongue. It was slightly sweet, and thankfully, didn't upset his stomach any more, at least not immediately. As he watched Emma do some more fidgeting, he noticed her becoming more nervous, and wondered what she was up to. Finally, she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"I, uh… may have snuck into a hospital pharmacy for this. Even Whale couldn't help me out on this one." She held up a syringe, already filled with something. "Morphine."

Killian couldn't contain an incredulous wince of a laugh, croaking,

"My Sheriff Swan, turned felon for me?"

"Shut up, pirate!" But she seemed relieved at his reaction. "Okay, so, magic has its perks once in awhile. Dr. Whale provided the dosing; all I had to do was poof in and out. Invisibly, of course. No one saw a thing. It'll make it easier to get you undressed so I can see where you're hurt, and obviously, make you feel lots better. Almost right away, I'm told."

"Sounds delightful," Killian replied honestly.

"Also might help with the vomiting; Whale said people can get that kind of reaction from extreme pain."

"Dunno what you're waiting for, then."

She rolled her eyes at him and got to her feet. "Mainly to make sure you aren't going to roll off the bed while I've got a needle in you."

Emma lay the syringe on the bed cover and carefully undid the one button still holding his shirt closed. Just as gently, she tugged the sleeve off his right arm, wriggling it down his wrist as he attempted to help without causing himself undue pain. He whined a little as his wrist folded through the shoulder hole, then the sleeve was free and he could rest the aching joint against his side. Emma winced when she noticed the rusty bandage around his wrist, and higher up, a smear of blood striping his forearm.

"Man, Killian; even your tattoo is bleeding. Or was."

The pirate merely grimaced, beginning to shiver in the cool cabin air. Emma quickly tore open an alcohol prep pad and scrubbed a surprisingly untouched portion of his upper arm.

"What, no sword cuts, rope burns, anything in 300 years?" she teased.

Eyes closed, Killian murmured, "I'm a hell of a swordsman; you know that."

"Sure." She fingered a slash slightly further down his arm that looked suspiciously like the nick of a cutlass. But neither continued the ribbing. Sighing, Emma picked up the syringe and uncapped the needle. Pinching his muscle with her left hand, she warned, "Okay. Here we go."

After jabbing the needle into Killian's arm, she paused to glance at his face. "You okay?"

He nodded, quipping,

"Just admiring the vigor with which you thrust it into me."

Emma chuckled. "That's what she said."

The puerile exchange served only as a superficial cover for both of their grave concerns, like the Band-Aid she stuck over the area once she'd plucked the needle free. But it had relieved the tension for a brief moment and allowed her to do what must be done.

"Not so bad, I guess," she said, and Killian nodded minutely.

"We'll make a nurse out of you yet."

Emma scoffed and set the syringe in a safe place out of the way. Then she returned, pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, and stroked his hair tenderly. "How's the stomach?"

"Improving." And it was. He still had no interest in tempting fate with further consumption of anything, but he no longer felt in danger of devolving into miserable heaving at any moment.

"Good. Then let's get those filthy clothes off so I can see what needs bandaging."

She got up, pulled the lower half of the quilt up so that it gathered at his hip, and set to work unfastening his jeans while he tried to smirk at her.

"Admit it; this is all a ruse to get me to expose my beautiful backside to you." The last word came out kind of strangled as Emma began to tug on the cuff around his injured ankle, and he bit back a strangled cry of pain. "Wait, wait," he gasped, and Emma halted, any response she had in mind forgotten.

"You okay?" she asked urgently. Killian clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Just… go easy on the ankle."

"Sorry," she winced. From then on, though she treated him like glass and stretched the pantsing processes to well over five minutes, Killian was too out of breath and in too much pain to attempt further innuendo.

With the activity, the quilt had ridden up on his side, revealing the mind boggling collection of gashes and welts marring his back, some of which trailed down to the upper parts of his buttocks. She knew he had a lot of scars there, but seeing a good portion of them fresh and bleeding again brought tears to her eyes. He had certainly suffered a lot of abuse in his long, hard life.

Her original plan had been to leave his underwear untouched, for his comfort and modesty. But now she questioned the wisdom of that action. It had to hurt him, having the waistband cutting into all of the raw stripes in his skin. So instead, she removed the garment entirely, then brought the quilt back down over his feet, as a shield against the cold more than anything else. In a quiet voice, she asked,

"How's your pain?"

Just as quietly, and with slightly slurred speech, Killian responded, "Better."

"Glad to hear it. I'm going to work on your back a little bit. Let me know if it gets too be too much and you need a break."

"Thank you, love." He wasn't even trying to hold his eyes open anymore, and Emma was glad. Rest would do him good, if he were able to lay aside his physical discomforts for awhile.

It would soon become apparent, however, that such a luxury would be out of reach. Despite the morphine in his bloodstream, and how much Killian tried to be stoic as she tended him, Emma could tell she was causing him a great deal of pain, from the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his muscles. The way every other breath came sharp and short, his back cringing away minutely in a subconscious effort to escape. Emma couldn't imagine being Smee and having to apply sutures with no painkillers aside from the ubiquitous rum.

The deepest of his wounds ran diagonally down from right shoulder all the way to left hip. And Emma was encountering the familiar quandary of how to cover it up and slow the bleeding when the skin surrounding it also bore oozing cuts. They just didn't make bandages big enough, at least none that she had been able to find in the pharmacy. She resorted to haphazard 4x4 squares stuck in place with Band-Aids and butterfly strips, both of which quickly became saturated with blood and precarious in their grip.

It had been at least ten minutes, maybe more. Emma released a sigh, deciding she had done all she could. Quietly, knowing he was awake but hating to disturb him anyway, Emma said,

"Think you can stand lying on your back? That may be the only way to slow the bleeding for now."

She could see the reluctance on his face as he nodded slowly. His voice was gravelly as he replied,

"Will be good to get off of this damn shoulder."

Emma gathered her supplies and clambered carefully over to the other side of the bunk, then down onto the floor. Killian opened one weary eye and met her gaze; she smiled a sad, encouraging smile with an accompanying nod.

Drawing a deep preparatory breath and holding it, Killian used what little strength he had to slowly shift himself onto his back. He nearly cried out as he settled onto the myriad of wounds, each one just an individual voice in an entire chorus of misery. As he struggled to breathe through the anguish, Emma stroked his cheek patiently, and gradually, the flames receded to flickering embers. Killian's grimace began to relax, leaving only a residual tightness that betrayed how he was feeling. As a distraction while she tugged the left shirt sleeve over his brace, Emma asked,

"Think I should check our progress? Our… course, and whatever?"

Killian gave a faint, half hearted smirk. Then he sobered. "I think we're in safe… hands. For now."

Tossing the bloodstained and singed shirt into a corner, Emma glanced around them, searching for any sign of the inhabiting spirit of the ship and finding nothing. "Fine by me. I'm not sure I'd be much good at it anyway."

Too tired to contradict her, even to spare her feelings, Killian said nothing. He began to reach across his body, intending to seek her hand, but was stopped by a jolt of pain in his wrist. "Bloody hell," he hissed, and the arm dropped gingerly. Carefully, Emma placed her hand on top of his where it lay.

"I'm not sure I know the story of that. Your wrist."

Killian winced. Emma slowly began to unwind the bandage there, which was filthy and soaked in blood. Through clenched teeth, the pirate said,

"That can be attributed to Mister Smee. Though he was only trying to help."

"Sounds like him," Emma replied, and Killian managed a short huff of a laugh. She peeled back the last layer and revealed the purple, bloody flap of skin beneath. She shuddered a grimace. "Shit, Killian. How did Smee manage that?"

"Not very carefully," was Killian's rueful answer; he turned his head away from the gruesome sight, even though his other arm wasn't much better off. At least that side was still covered up, for now. "I'll have to relate the entire adventure to you at a later date. Suffice it to say, I had a magical cuff affixed round my wrist for awhile, and the only way of removing it was a bit drastic."

Killian fidgeted as Emma applied saline and then a fresh non stick pad to the raw skin, stoking the flames anew. Emma murmured her apologies, and Killian continued.

"It's related to this shoulder, actually. Which, admittedly, could probably do with a bit of attention as well."

Tying a clumsy knot, Emma glanced at the slowly oozing wound near his collarbone. "Sword?" she guessed.

"Spear," he corrected, and she winced. As she moved to take a closer look, she told him,

"You know, I was only trying to give you something to talk about, as a little distraction, but if you'd rather try and sleep…"

Killian gave a small shake of his head. "Not possible, I'm afraid. Too much probing occurring."

Emma covered up her real guilt with a fake scoff. "Whatever, buddy; at least you're only bleeding half as much now." She pressed some gauze to the shoulder wound, prompting a grunt from Killian. They were quiet for a moment, then Emma asked in a timid voice,

"If… you do want to talk… how 'bout explaining for me what exactly happened here? I know the curse and potion stuff, but… you were gone for, like, ten minutes, and came back mostly dead."

"Ten minutes? Was that all?"

"I was still debating whether to wait it out or figure out a way home to start searching for you guys. And then the portal opened again and I poofed aboard to find you like _this_."

"Yet another realm where time moves differently," reasoned Killian wearily.

"Where? What realm did you go to, and, you know… why?"

Killian hesitated for a long time. Just when Emma thought he must have dozed off after all, he haltingly began the tale. Who had summoned them, what she was after. The curse, the motivation to do her bidding. The peril they'd faced. And, ultimately, Marvel's sacrifice, her loyalty and bravery the only reason he'd made it back for a reunion. Tears streaked his cheeks by the time he was finished, and he made no move to wipe them away. What he did do was force himself, despite the pain, to reach for Emma's hand again. This time, he succeeded, and their fingers threaded together even as Emma put the finishing touches on his shoulder dressing.

"Will you forgive me, love, for pleading with her not to do it? Knowing that I would likely not survive?"

Emma brushed her hand along his cheek, feeling the wetness that mimicked that on her own face. "I get it, Killian. I would have had a hard time letting her go, too. I'm not angry with you."

He answered with a weak smile of thanks. But then he added,

"I… I wish…"

That was the point at which he couldn't continue, and Emma immediately leaned down to take him into a careful embrace.

"Oh, Killian…"

And he wept quietly as the exhaustion and emotion of the day spilled out in a way it had not been allowed to before. Emma simply held him, bringing what comfort she could but knowing that only time would heal new wounds, physical and emotional.

Eventually, his tears stopped, and he lay back, perilously close to passing out. He had absolutely no energy left. He was completely drained; all he wanted was his home, his bed, with Emma by his side, where he could sleep knowing she was safe and secure with him. But it was not to be: he knew he had a long and painful ordeal to endure before he reached that point.

Without a word from either of them, Emma got back to work, focusing her attention on his thigh. It looked much worse than the wound of a week ago - countless cuts and nicks marked the limb, to the point that it would probably be prudent just to wrap the entire thing. So, starting at the groin, she began to do exactly that.

After dealing with a few other small wounds on his person, Emma finally brushed her hand along his brace. "Is… is this…" she began, hesitant, and Killian nodded solemnly.

"Aye. I haven't been able to bring myself to look at it. Dunno how badly it's been affected."

Emma cursed. "Maybe we should just… leave it. Let the professionals take care of it."

Shrugging, Killian gave his consent. "I'm not averse to that plan, love. The brace is likely containing much of the bleeding, anyway."

"That's what I was thinking, too." She sat back. "So… I guess that's that. Do you have any ideas for what to tell them?"

The pirate made a face; he was just as much at a loss as she was. "Shark attack?"

"Strangely selective shark," she shot back. Killian closed his eyes, too worn out to think of any more.

"Your world, Swan. You get the honors."

She didn't protest. Pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose, she promised,

"I'm on it. Wanna try a sip of water before you sleep?"

Killian just shook his head: the mere thought made him queasy.

"Rest, then. I'll be here if you need anything."

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Thankfully, now that Emma was no longer intensifying his pain with her treatments, Killian soon drifted into a light, drug-assisted slumber. She kept watch for a while, making sure that he was still breathing. Then, checking the time, she realized that they may be nearing Portland, and decided that she should probably go up on deck to take stock of their surroundings.

There were dwellings lining the beach and a big harbor in the distance. As it was still a cold, drizzly day, not many other boats were about, but she could see one or two making their ponderous way over sullen waves. It would probably draw less attention if she were at least pretending to steer the ship, much as she hated to leave Killian unattended.

"Hey, Marvel," she murmured, striding to the helm and taking her place at the wheel. "Thanks for… you know. Getting my husband back to me. He's in trouble; I'm sure you're aware. So… any help here would be great."

The wheel shuddered faintly; it was so brief that she might have even imagined it. But it gave her reassurance anyway.

A quarter of an hour later, the Jolly Roger floated at anchor right where instructed. The harbormaster had yelled orders over his megaphone from a speedboat at their port side, and it seemed that there were no available berths large enough to accommodate a ship of her size. Emma managed to communicate the need for an ambulance, and the man had immediately relayed the message via his radio.

She couldn't imagine how they would get Killian off the ship without the assistance of magic.

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 **AN: This story is in the same universe as my other fics, so if you're wondering about some of the injuries mentioned here, or how Emma knows how to give injections, check out "Or Sleep with the Fishes" and "They Never Bury Your Bones." :)**


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Killian drifted back into a muddled awareness when he heard unfamiliar voices in the stairwell. All of his hurts assaulted him at once, and as he cringed, he struggled to make sense of dream-distorted reality.

"Down here," directed Emma, her voice growing louder as she neared the door to his cabin. With difficulty, Killian managed to peel his eyelids open to a slitted squint.

Uniformed strangers - three men and a woman - flooded the room, carrying a stretcher and loads of intimidating equipment. Paramedics. Killian grimaced; the prospect of enduring their meddling seemed impossibly daunting, no matter how small a part he would play. Unconsciousness beckoned enticingly but would be kept at bay by inevitable pain.

"You said his name is Killian?" asked one of the men as the others staged the area with practiced ease. Emma nodded, and the man approached the bunk to the discordant accompaniment of plastic pouches being opened and velcro torn apart. "Killian, I'm Gary; this is Brett, Rusty, and Colleen. We're here to help. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Killian obliged to the best of his ability; his weariness and the effects of the morphine were making him lightheaded, and his eyelids felt monumentally heavy. Gary flashed a penlight in each of his eyes, which didn't help the feeling. Two of the others had positioned themselves nearby, and now one of them drew the blanket down around his waist, prompting painful shivers as his bare skin was exposed to the chilly air. Or, at least, the skin not currently covered by hasty bandages.

"Do you know where you are?" Gary was asking. Beside him, his colleague Brett was slipping a blood pressure cuff around Killian's left upper arm, triggering jolts of pain through his injured shoulder with each slight movement. Another medic, Colleen, was working on fixing EKG leads to relatively-uninjured patches on his chest.

"My ship," slurred Killian. The cuff around his arm began its inexorable squeeze; the increased pressure in the limb caused a noticeable intensifying in the throb of his blunted wrist.

"What day is it?"

Killian thought for a moment; the morning felt like such a long time ago, and he was having difficulty recalling the particular date. "The… third of October, I believe."

"Do you know who the president is?"

That seemed an odd question. Killian watched the fourth man, Rusty, studying the foot of the cot. "Some git called Trump."

Gary cracked a smile before nodding. "Killian, do you have any allergies that you're aware of?"

"I… can't…"

"Not that we know of," supplied Emma, who was standing back out of the way but watching anxiously.

"Does this bed pull away from the wall at all?" interrupted Rusty. The blood pressure cuff relaxed with a hiss, and Brett quietly reported the reading. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Killian shook his head in answer.

"How about medical conditions? Heart issues? That kind of thing?"

"No."

Rusty cautiously slid his weight atop the bunk near Killian's feet and then began an awkward shuffle forward until he could crouch in the small space between the wall and Killian's side.

"Taking any meds?" Gary asked. Killian shook his head, and Emma jumped in.

"He… had a dose of morphine… about an hour ago." She reported the dosage, and Gary raised an eyebrow as he made a notation. But he didn't ask where such a drug had materialized from.

Killian's gaze flicked again to Rusty, who was fiddling with bits of equipment laid out on the mattress near his shoulder. Noting the attention, Rusty flashed a reassuring smile.

"I'm going to be starting an IV line," he explained. "I'll warn you before the poke, okay?"

"So… what exactly happened, again?" asked Gary, and Killian searched helplessly for Emma. He had no clue what she had told them, and didn't want to contradict her story. He felt Rusty taking hold of his tender forearm, and at the same time, Brett slipping a thermometer into his ear.

"I know it sounds crazy," began Emma. "There was this wacko with swords. Thought he was some modern-day pirate or something. Of course, when he saw this ship, he couldn't resist. Brought his boat alongside, climbed aboard, and forced my husband into a duel."

Utterly ridiculous. But difficult to disprove, and many of the injuries _did_ appear to be caused by a blade. Killian appreciated her thought process.

He felt the cold oiliness of rubbing alcohol along the inside of his arm, above the tattoo. Brett had noted his temperature and now was adjusting a pulse oximeter onto his earlobe.

"Was anyone else hurt? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Emma assured Gary. "There was no one else aboard, and as soon as the freak was satisfied in his pirate skill with a sword, he jumped back into his boat and sped away."

"Big poke now, Killian," warned Rusty. The needle bit into his forearm with a notable sting, and the pirate drew a slow, centering breath, managing not to flinch. The guy must have been using the biggest cannula in their arsenal, and Killian didn't want to do anything that might throw off his aim; he had no desire to be stabbed again if he missed the vein.

"How much blood do you think he's lost?"

"Hell if I know. Like, a lot."

"Has he lost consciousness at all?"

"I don't think so."

"And how long ago did all of this happen?"

"Um, 'bout an hour."

"Anything to eat or drink since then?"

"Well, I tried to give him this electrolyte stuff, but he puked it up." Emma turned toward the shelves near the head of the bed and found the extra bottle of rehydration solution.

It seemed Rusty had been successful in finding a vein, for he was now securing the IV tubing with adhesive plastic. Brett and Colleen were off near the table, fiddling with the stretcher.

"All set here," reported Rusty, holding the IV bag up so the saline could flow rapidly into Killian's arm. Brett was quick to return to Killian's side, and he took possession of the bag so that Rusty could clamber off of the bed.

"Okay. We're going to take you to the hospital and get you taken care of, sound good?"

Killian clenched his jaw and nodded reluctantly. It was an exhausting thought in his current state: the noise, fuss, pain and humiliation. He wished he could just be unconscious the whole time, and only wake up once he was released.

"We'll need to position the stretcher underneath you; it may be easiest to roll you toward the wall, onto your side, and go from there."

With the assistance of Rusty and Gary, Killian grumbled his way onto his right side. While he worked, Gary asked,

"Is all of this from the sword, too?" He motioned in the direction of the lash marks covering Killian's back, and Emma made a face. She knew they were too parallel and regular to be explained that way.

"He also had an old-fashioned… whip thing. One of those kinds with multiple strands? Guy was totally nuts."

Gary made a noise of sympathy. "You're going to have to give a statement to the police. Both of you. We don't want this guy running around doing this kind of thing to unsuspecting sailors."

And now all four paramedics were at Killian's bedside, ready to roll him onto the stretcher. And even though they were cautious of his injuries, the process caused no small amount of pain, and he was in no shape to make any sort of objection for the next several moments. Eyes screwed tight, nearly whimpering with each breath, Killian lay docile, letting the professionals take care of tucking a blanket over him, strapping him in place, and situating the monitors and IV for safe transit.

Emma was hanging back out of the way, but once they had heaved him up and were making their careful way up the stairs and into the drizzle, she followed anxiously. Killian could hear her murmuring words of encouragement to him, but the outside light was too bright for him to even consider opening his eyes and seeking her out.

Some small part of him was impressed by their ability to keep him level while ascending the steep, narrow stairwell. And he couldn't fathom how they were planning to get him off of the ship and into their ambulance. But all he could do was lie still and hope they didn't drop him.

As it turned out, they were able to use the Jolly Roger's own davit system, attached securely to all four posts of the stretcher, to lower Killian down onto the waiting watercraft floating parallel to the larger ship. Emma and two paramedics transferred over via ladder first, with the remaining two staying behind to supervise the stretcher transfer. Once they, too, had clambered over to the gently bouncing speedboat, the engine revved, and they all started for shore. Despite his pain, exhaustion, and dread of the upcoming hospital visit, Killian couldn't help feeling a pang of nerves and regret, to be leaving his beautiful, sentient ship unattended in strange waters.

The trip to the dock took less than five minutes, as the sirens were on and they could go at top speed. One of the paramedics kept a hand on Killian's shoulder at all times; the pirate still had his eyes closed and, thus, couldn't tell which one it was. But he knew when Emma's hand slipped inside of his. He knew the shape of those fingers, the tender strength with which she squeezed reassuringly. The warmth of her palm as compared to the freakishly cold fingertips. Killian did his best to squeeze back… but his wrist spasmed and the attempt quickly died.

There was no davit at the dock. The medics simply lifted the stretcher, careful not to lose their balance on the moderate waves, and slid it onto the wood, leaving Killian there until they could climb out themselves. A sizeable crowd had gathered: Killian could hear their speculative murmurings as they spotted the historic-looking ship in the distance and the bleeding, motionless man on the stretcher. Gary implored the bystanders to keep back and give them space. Killian was tempted to open his eyes, to seek reassurance from Emma and satisfy the instinctive need to learn about his surroundings. But he kept them stubbornly closed.

Soon, they were moving again, jolting slightly with the steps of those carrying the load. There seemed to be a wheeled gurney waiting nearby; shortly thereafter, Killian's stretcher was placed atop the contraption, and the up-and-down motion of footsteps was replaced by vibrations from wheels over asphalt. Killian was being strapped in place even as they traveled. Though they were cautious, the sheer number of wounds meant that that it was nearly inevitable that the belts would intersect one at some point. Killian grit his teeth every time. And it didn't help much.

The gurney tilted as it was pushed up a ramp, and for the first time, Killian slitted his eyes open. The light lessened as they entered the ambulance. Despite his many injuries over his lifetime, even since coming to live in Storybrooke, it was only Killian's second time riding in one of the intimidating vehicles; usually Emma was able to either heal him or poof them straight to the hospital. The first time, of course, was that dizzying night at the town line, when the trauma of being hit by a car had contributed significantly to the haziness and confusion, so he barely remembered that journey. This time, though his wounds were arguably more severe, or at least more numerous, Killian was much more lucid and likely to remember.

Amidst the commotion of preparing for departure, Killian could hear Emma speaking calmly with one of the medics, though he couldn't quite make out their words. Suddenly, she was beside him, smiling down sadly with a comforting caress.

"They're not gonna let me ride along. But I'll meet you there, okay?"

She leaned down and kissed his forehead in an anxious farewell.

"We'll take good care of him," Colleen assured her. Killian could see that Emma was not overly reassured.

"I'll be all right, Swan," he murmured, his voice gravelly and weak. "Love you."

"I love you too." She squeezed his hand and then allowed someone to whisk her outside. Killian released a shaky sigh. Then he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

He would be able to keep his last vow to his beloved… wouldn't he?


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

So much waiting. Emma had not gotten any better at it. Especially now that she'd grown accustomed to magically hastening most processes. She had to keep reminding herself that it wouldn't be just a matter of getting Killian stable enough for a transfer home, where she could use her ability to heal him. Not this time. This time, she couldn't value speed over precision, because it now mattered if the surgical team cut corners. This time, if they missed something, Killian would pay a real, long-term price. So she had to wait, crazy with worry, hoping and praying for a good outcome.

She had already spoken to a physician, who had provided her with a tsunami of information. Blood transfusions. Extensive imaging. Strong antibiotics. And on top of all that, Killian was now in surgery to repair what they suspected was a laceration to the wall of his stomach. Possibly his liver, too. So then there was a discussion of risks, complications, and what the course of recuperation would look like. Emergency laparotomy was not a minor procedure, she'd been warned. Mortality rates were relatively high, depending on the severity of the injury, and he remained at risk for setbacks even after the surgery was deemed a success. For a moment, with how negatively the physician had been speaking, Emma had thought he was preparing her for Killian's imminent death. But later, rationality returned and she remembered how thoroughly hospitals had to cover all eventualities. Her husband was a fighter. A survivor, like he always said. Assuming the worst would not help anyone in the slightest. Still, that truth had not prevented a couple of tearful phone calls seeking reassurance, commiseration, and a little bit of distraction from from her family. She had plenty of time to kill, after all.

The only other interruption successful at breaking up the hours of monotonous tension had been the lengthy statement she had given to the police. Owing to her own skill at discerning lies from truth, she knew not to include too many specific details. She had decided to give a vague description of Mr. Gold as the attacker, knowing that Killian would enjoy using colorful language to describe his old enemy to the police, despite the fact that nothing would ever come of it. Although if Gold did happen to ever travel this way and somehow got picked up for questioning, neither Emma nor Killian would harbor the slightest bit of guilt about it. The unfortunate part about the cover story was that the police then wanted to search the Jolly Roger for evidence, and Emma could not refuse without looking suspicious. Thankfully, most traces of Killian's pirating days were long gone by now, and those that remained could be explained away by the ship being a historical replica. Killian wouldn't like it, but not much could be done about it.

Her mind wandered again to the circumstances that had started this whole thing. What gnawed at her was the timing of it all. Its precise alignment with the tiny window wherein Zeus's volcano became dormant. Could Brizo have somehow foreseen what would happen? Did she bring Marvel to life knowing the chain of events that would place Killian and his ship within Eris' grasp at the right time? Was it preordained somehow, or more likely, did Zeus have something to do with it? As grateful as Emma was to the deity for bringing Killian back from the Underworld, if he had known Marvel's eventual fate, she would never forgive him for putting her husband through that. Even if it was to rid them all of a dangerous foe. Killian didn't deserve that... and neither did Marvel.

"Mrs. Jones?"

Emma shot to her feet as the scrub-clad woman approached. "Yeah. Here."

"The surgery went well," announced the other without preamble.

"Oh thank God."

"We were able to repair the lacerations to your husband's internal organs, as well as the worst of his other injuries. Barring any major complications in the next few days, it appears he should pull through. He's in the recovery room now; you may be able to go up and see him once the anesthesia wears off. Otherwise, we'll get him settled into a room and you can visit him there."

"Awesome; thanks so much."

Shaky with relief, Emma had a hundred questions but couldn't think of a single one at that moment. Sudden, overwhelming exhaustion had her struggling to even finish the conversation. The professional before her must have recognized the feeling, for she gave an understanding smile.

"We'll come get you when he's ready for visitors."

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Killian woke slowly, reluctantly, his mind filled with lingering dreams of ash clouds and starlight. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, but somehow, Emma knew of his broadening awareness. She squeezed his hand gently with a murmured,

"Hey."

"Emma," breathed Killian, giving her a weak caress in return. The cotton patches littering his body seemed to extend behind his eyes, between his ears, fogging thought and senses into a dense fluff. In exchange for a great reduction in pain, he now felt heavy, drained, and more than a little drunk. And not the fun kind, either. Emma's voice again burrowed through the padding in his skull as she asked,

"How are you feeling?"

He made an attempt to clear his throat, which currently felt as if he'd been imitating that sword swallower he'd seen as a boy, in some exotic port or other. He was fairly certain Liam had been there - when _was_ that, anyway? Which ship? Before the Jewel, surely. But did that mean that she… gods, it had to, if he had only seen it then… but, no, there were other times, too. Near the water? Dockside entertainment was a thing, wasn't it?

"Killian?"

The pirate dragged his eyes open and tried a small smile. What was the question? "Better, if you can believe it."

Emma returned his smile, her lips curving softly in that tender way of hers. "That'll be the narcotics."

"What time is it?" The dim lights, still bright enough to irritate his eyes, gave a clue, as did the dark shadows on Emma's face.

"Past midnight. Heard you had a rough time in Recovery."

"I thought I was dying," agreed Killian. Hazy, unpleasant memories of uncontrollable chills; violent, painful nausea; frightful disorientation. "Which didn't sound like such a bad idea at the time."

Emma ran her thumb along the back of his hand and winced in sympathy. "Sounds awful. But the surgery went well. They don't think there's gonna be any lasting internal damage. They were able to fix you up nicely; even said you might be allowed to go home in a few days, if you're able to eat okay."

Home. Back to Storybrooke, their house with the view of the ocean. Back to sheriff and deputy; their friends and family; the life they had built. Everything back to the way it was, before.

How could it, though?

Reacting to the suddenly stricken look on his face, Emma leaned closer, reaching forward to trail a knuckle down his cheek. "You okay?"

Killian dropped his gaze and gave an unconvincing nod. "Only… it's ridiculous, really, but… I keep thinking of things I should like to show Marvel. To… to _have_ shown her. Things she may not have had the opportunity to see, confined to the ocean." He sighed heavily. "And then there are the holidays coming up, and she was going to be there with us, to experience them for the first time, and now…"

He quickly pulled his hand from her grasp to wipe away a threatening tear. "I'm sorry, love. I'm just overtired and the drugs aren't helping. Perhaps in the morning I'll stop spouting all this nonsense."

Emma got up then, and when Killian looked at her, he was mildly surprised to see unshed tears in her eyes, too. Carefully, she bent to place a kiss on the least bruised area of his cheek. Then she rested a hand on each side of his head, behind the ears, staring straight down into his tired gaze.

"Killian, it's not nonsense, and I don't want you apologizing. They're legitimate feelings, for a real loss. You're not gonna… offend me, or hurt my feelings or something by grieving for her. Okay?"

Blinking up into her compassionate expression, Killian felt some of the guilt he hadn't even known he'd been carrying lift. But with Emma's understanding, the acknowledgement and labeling of his grief, and above all, someone willing to share the burden, the tide of emotion threatened to sweep him away. He nodded slowly, almost casually, as if tears weren't already scalding his temples and sobs gathering beneath his ribs. And when he finally gave into the flood of sadness, Emma was there. Holding him, giving comfort, mourning right along with him.

Doing all she could to soothe his wounded heart.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

 _2 months later..._

Killian Jones stepped aboard the lovely Jolly Roger, safely berthed in Storybrooke Harbor, her sails neatly furled for the time being. He automatically took in all of the details, checking her condition with a practiced eye as he made his way to the helm. Each step up to the quarterdeck chafed at the new, bittersweet rawness of his thigh. He trailed a tender hand along the wood, concluding with a fond pat on the spokes of the wheel itself. Then he turned to face the rest of the deck.

"Hello, love," he murmured, reveling in the stillness of the moment, the faint breeze, the glassiness of the waves. He would always treasure his time aboard this glorious vessel; even more so now that he'd interacted with her living soul. "I have something to show you."

He had been wearing loose sweatpants the last few days to accommodate the surprise in question, earning him more than one odd look as he interacted with the people of Storybrooke. But he didn't care - the pain and inconvenience had been worth it. Rolling up the left leg, he tucked his hook beneath the fabric, near the top of his thigh. Then he peeled back the dressing that covered his newest tattoo.

Long weeks of recuperation had not been spent idle. Once his fractured wrist could tolerate gripping a pencil, Killian had spent hours sketching and perfecting his tribute, the design that now permanently graced his skin. More sessions would be needed to darken and perfect the scene, but even now, still unfinished, it was a thing of beauty. Much like the ship herself. Pictured cutting through gentle waves, the miniature Jolly Roger seemed to be on the verge of leaping into a brand new adventure. The long, pink furrow left by his hook had become the mainmast, and though the tattoo artist had advised against working over such a fresh scar, the results were flawless. Other accidental hook marks were cleverly disguised as rolling waves or seabirds, or the bowsprit at its rakish angle, racing toward an invisible horizon. And just below the hull, riding the crest of a playful wave, the single word, _Marvel._

Killian traced the still-tender lettering of her name, a melancholy but affectionate smile on his face. "I wanted to thank you. For getting us home. For all that you sacrificed to do so. And before that… for everything else."

He allowed the sweatpants leg to fall back into place, turning his gaze to take in the majesty of the ship above, her proud masts standing tall. The pennant bearing the crest of the Enchanted Forest royal family. The towering heights of the crow's nest.

"For as long as we've been together, I've been assured of one thing - sometimes the _only_ thing: that I could always count on you. My absolute marvel of a ship. My home. My only source of joy for many a long year. And I can't thank you enough."

He cast his face toward his adopted hometown. His wife, the family that warmed his heart in a way that he'd despaired of for so long. Emma was waiting for him at home; she had somehow known that he needed this time alone, and had gladly granted it. Killian gripped the wheel loosely, turning his focus back on the spirit that he now knew was listening to his every word.

"I may have gained a second home, another place to belong, much of which wouldn't have been possible without your assistance. But even though I may not tread these decks as often, I hope you understand that I'll always need you. I will treasure you for the rest of my days. And then, gods willing, perhaps some little pirates who come after me will inherit the honor."

Glancing at the deck, he searched for any hint of Zeus' potion staining the wood, but of course, all traces had long since disappeared. Quietly, he said,

"Regina and Emma are fairly certain that the magic immunity isn't permanent. Give it a year, they say, and they'll be back to waving away what ails me. You were exposed to a larger dose; it will likely take longer to wear off for you. When it does… perhaps we can contrive a way to bring back your human form. But even if we can't…"

Killian paused, swallowed, and tightened his hand on the wheel. Resolve and sincerity colored his words as he voiced the promise he felt compelled to make.

"If I can convince you of this one thing… if you never believe anything else I ever say… please believe this: you will be taken care of. I know you've seen derelict ships, as I have, and the sight must pain you even more than it does me. But that will _never_ be your fate. I will do whatever it takes to see to your maintenance, even after I'm gone. I swear this to you. And it's the very least I can do in thanks for all you've done for me."

Killian closed his eyes awhile and pictured Marvel's face. He deliberately recalled her last moments: the sentiments she had expressed, the reasons for her sacrifice. And though the memory still brought a lump to his throat, it also inspired a quiet smile.

"I _am_ happy, Marvel. I truly am. I _miss you_ \- gods, do I miss you. But because of you, I can go on enjoying this undeserved bliss. I wanted you to know that. Because… I want _you_ to be happy, too."

That was what always got to him the most. He could hear her clearly in his mind, expressing in so many ways her desire to be close to him. How much she had enjoyed interacting with him, and seeing his life on land… and her eventual preference for a human existence. She had given that up for love of him, and the thought never failed to bring tears to his eyes.

Killian ran a hand down his face and sniffed. "I was wrong before. In my interpretation of the old saying. It isn't only the love of a captain for his ship that determines the status of his heart. It's the ship's loyalty to her captain; the utter compulsion to guard and _protect_ that heart that signifies 'belonging.' And by surrendering your own desires... your hopes of ever being its sole possessor again… it's like you gifted it to me, and only now am I free to do with it as I will.

"So here I am, giving it back to you. You have just as much claim to my heart as does Emma. I wouldn't be able to explain it, but there it is."

He shrugged, filled his lungs with cold sea air, and patted the wheel once more. Marvel's seagull friend circled overhead, contentedly riding the breeze in search of an easy meal. Killian took a step toward the stairs, then stopped with a wry grin. "Almost forgot."

From his coat pocket, he withdrew a silver chain with delicate links, old-fashioned in style but recognizable as a necklace. Dangling from the bottom was a sparkle of sapphire: Marvel's earring, reworked into a lovely teardrop charm. With a few quick movements, he had wrapped the chain around the uppermost wheel spoke, tightly enough that even upside down, the necklace would not drop off. He backed up to survey his handiwork and broke into a broad grin. "It suits you."

A larger than average swell nudged the ship then, and it was almost as if she were nodding in agreement. The blue charm wiggled an enthusiastic accompaniment. And Killian continued to smile all the way to the gangplank. His parting words were a contented assurance, given to the invisible presence always looking forward to his return.

"See you tomorrow. My beautiful Marvel."

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 **AN: A million thanks to everyone who stuck with this until the end! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it! Extra special thanks for all of the wonderful comments. I may not have replied to every single one, but I treasured them all!**

 **Coming up next is my contribution to the OUAT Winter Whump event on tumblr! Posting begins November 30 (I'm hookaroo there, and ListerofTardis on AO3.) If I have time, I will try to post here concurrently.**

 **Hope to see you all again for future adventures with our faves!**


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